The Fire In The Attic

Me and Holden Caulfield

    Holden Caulfield had it right. In the beginning of “Catcher in the Rye,” he doesn’t bore you with the trepidations of his youth and he unapologetically vaults into the story. These days the prologues and the epilogues should be dealt with in style of “Dead Poet’s Society.”
    Rip. Them. Out.
    Now I’ve never had a true blog before that would allow me to pontificate endlessly to the to readers my own clunky version of neurosis that dominates my thoughts and internal concerns. I sometimes prattle on in features or reviews, but it’s a rare occasion that I get to shake off the cold chains of formula and embrace another medium – the blogosphere.
    It has changed the course of news as well as given countless Americans the ability to voice their concerns however they see fit. The proletariat is to have their moments in the sun whether it be a rational and fermented summation or a moronic proselytizing that ricochet off all of the 1s sand 0s of cyberspace. Linguistic freedom is free in all sense of the WORlD.
    So as Graffiti is hurled feverously into the onslaught of timely web postings, we here in the office have been waiting with our heads down in the starting block for some time. When the gun goes off we don’t know if we’ll win the race, but we’re going to be damn sure we look good in those track shorts.
    As for me and this blog, I’m going to unleash organized chaos in a way that grants our readers with a wide spectrum of subjects and muses. Like my old friend used to say, ”You can always rely on the fire in the attic. It’ll burn the house right to the ground.”