A Sentimental Notice

On Friday 8 May 1998, the Dark Muse having waylaid me the night before, I wrote this:

Groke was going. He said something about venturing into the world to teach the rocks to sing, by finding the children of God and cutting out their tongues. "But I'll have to do every last one of them," he said.

That led, a bit later, to this, and eventually to this. Several people have paid to read it, and one generous soul has even reviewed it; both these facts continue to amaze me, but not nearly so much as the fact that I got the damn thing done.

You will, I hope, excuse the self-indulgence. Happy anniversary, Beelzebub.