today, the bastard set up the last of his pages.the pages from his monolith.
his albatross.
his yearly herculean labor.
and it was no more.
and when the bastard had saw the breadth of his domain, he wept for there were no more worlds to conquer.
and truth to tell,
all poetry aside, every time i finish this fucking mountain of work, i feel like weeping a little bit. it's hard. and i still have a pile to do. i owe the devil his due. i still have to finish the february/march issue. and the end isn't in site but for a minute, the bastard feels like he won a little today.
i'll lose some more tomorrow.
but on to bigger and better. the end of the road. it leads to vegas. we booked some dinner. we'll throw some dice. we'll fuck some shit up. but most of all. we'll lay the live half of what i finished today. maybe i won more than i bargained for.—the bastard
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