purgatorio

I have nothing particulary profound to pontificate upon today - only a bit of news: I am leaving my happy little artsy fartsy world tommorow and descending, rapidly, through all the levels of hell until I crash-bang-boom on the lowest of lows, which any Dante scholar will tell you is reserved exclusively for traitors and tree planters.

It isn't really all that horrible, it's just a different world, full of stress and tension and ridiculously long hours, which will indubidably leave me too brain dead on my days off to actually write something. Don't give up on me entirely, though, cause sometimes my hellish suffering inspires me to loftier heights than heretofore imagined. Last summer, for instance, I wrote a poem about a cat who ate only fried ham. Stellar