What? EMAIL? THAT'S SO last decade!

Ok, fine. You can email me. Use the form over there on the right.

WARNING: If you spam me, I'm going to hunt down everyone you've ever known and loved and tell them that you are a dirty, rotten spammer. And you smell.


123 Street Avenue, City Town, 99999

(123) 555-6789



You can set your address, phone number, email and site description in the settings tab.
Link to read me page with more information.


The Electronic Forest


One of my most valued possessions is a single piece of paper.

The valuable part, of course, is what's printed on it. It's not a deed, contract, license or any other legal document though. It's a print-out of a short piece of prose posted to a BBS long ago. Too long and formless to be poetry and too short and plotless to be a story, it's just some text that a friend once wrote about some of his friends. It placed each of our circle along with some of it's fringe (not by name, but by description) in a fantasy world, going about our daily business. It was an elegeant and warm sentiment, if not exactly a statement.

This friend of mine was a dreamer. A beautiful fucking human being who left this world way too early. Too early for him and way too fucking early for the world. It's a darker place without his dumb blonde ass.

I came across this paper again when I started to go through my things in preperation for moving. I read it over and over. It got me thinking about those days, and those friends I never see anymore. I miss them.

And I miss you especially, Randy.

You jackass.