City of Legends

I managed to complete only a fraction of the additions to williamfdevault.com over the weekend. My apologies. It’s tough. Not the actual html, which takes about 5 minutes per poem, plus about the same time to PhotoShop the art to the right size (Most of the artists and photographers I am working with have a strict no-cropping rule. Bastards.) The real time is wading through the mountain of options for the graphics, trying to make sure I am not being incongruous. I take my work seriously, I want people to have a clue as to what I am trying to say. Thanks to the website deviantart.com for the assist.

I did get permissions from a handful of more creative types, which was nice and not so nice. Nice because now I have access to more options and not so nice because now I have access to more options. I have looked at so many photo-manipulated, naked, costumed and semi-clad bodies and intensely emotional and expressive faces in the last few weeks that I am going barking mad. Ooops! Too late! Was already there.

My email at cityoflegends is down temporarily due to a server problem at my hosting company. Ah well, no one truly important writes me anymore anyway. My presence at FaceBook has diminished to the point that people are messaging me to ask if I am okay. I am okay…sort of…

I am tired, stressed, sick, aching, raging and running on an adrenaline burn that should have killed me six weeks ago. My doctor thinks I am biofeedbacking my way into an unprovable suicide by not allowing myself to be medicated. Sorry, I have seen all the good that modern psychoreactive medicine has done to people around me. I feel like my blood has been replaced with boiling acid. Every joint aches, even walking a flight of stairs is like being beaten. Using a keyboard I can feel the lactic acid buildup in my wrists and elbows and finger joints. But I am my own person, with no excuse for the damage I do to the world around me or myself. I prefer it that way. You should see the shit I have been writing, though.

So this is what unmedicated stress does to you? Good. I deserve it. I’ll recover, just wasn’t anticipating it so violently and virulently, it caught me off guard (probably the food poisoning had its way with some of my bodily defenses) and like the water at the levees after Katrina, it washed over my normal defenses. I am fighting it through with writing, working and distractions that normally I would not allow myself to this degree, but I am doing the best I can with the wiring I have. Give me a break.

You need to be checking Amomancer for some new works being inspired by new friends. It is amazing what meeting so many gifted and/or photogenic people will do to your cathartic pathways. At least I know my testosterone is intact. I walked today until my legs buckled, trying to fight through it all. I have decided to just accept night sweats as normal.

I will be officially releasing Evangelist on Friday, my father’s birthday, just because I do stuff like that. And I was reminded about the reading I am giving at Barnes & Noble on August 17th. It is a six hour reading, so we’ll see if my stress has been bled off enough by then. Anyone have some leeches?