You people are sick. Unique visitors were up nearly 90 percent for June to 12.2 per day, and total hits were up 195 percent to 70 per day. (Both numbers are a bit low, as only about ten pages on Prinsiana have invisible counters.) Wow. I guess that's what happens when you, you know, give an audience something to read. Good job, me.
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My fingers hurt. After my time-consuming 900-word soliloquy on Catholicism, a not-short rebuttal on the subject to Andrew V., and some, uh, less public conversing, I would suspect that I spent more time writing yesterday (from wake to sleep) than any day since college. If my writing does not seem particularly pizzazzy today, that would be why: I've used up all my ingenuity.
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I'm still waiting for... ...a poem written in iambic pentameter with a secondary anapestic foot. If someone doesn’t write one soon, I have a long (50 lines, maybe, when completed), strange, unfinished (25 lines written) poem in that rhythm that I will be forced to complete and share with you. Now, you don’t want that, do you? I thought not. Get writing.
oh so lovingly written by
Matthew |
i sincerely do not know what you are doing here. are you lost? were you
looking for your delicate calico cat, and did you follow her up two flights of stairs
to this room? she is not here. she was here, yes. we gave her a warm bowl of milk, we talked with her about campaign finance reform for a time, and then she bid us good day. i believe she was
going to the post office two blocks down, but i don't quite recall.
for surely you did
not find your way from prinsiana, the least traveled site on
the internet. if you did, though, perhaps you are looking for humor. perhaps you are looking for profundity. perhaps you are looking for answers.
i'm sorry, but you shall go naught-for-three.
