Spent fifty-plus-one of Staycation '11 strick'n with decease, never happened at GenCon '88's Ye Olde Lich Hunt I can tell you, but 'tis no skinn'd nose, compost happens, et cetera yet this prevented a fulfillment of my homie duties, & I find as age strolls on by flipping both birds & righteous indignation these body parts wrapped in a piquant nelsonmuntzing, that now & then the vista of rituals that used to angry up the blood are sparser in number yet more potent, but lest me stab me in retaliation & then who would open the Towering Slab?
As for the rest, i.e. this, not sure what I want to do with it [ed. note: look for a resolution, amateur sleuths, you won't find it; nothing is ever resolved], as more & more each day the unimportant stuff becomes important & the important stuff less so which leads to a reevaluation of what's important. November 6, for example, ain't, though verily a chuckle riseth as we who rock &/or roll celebrate the birth of the guy who crooned this. Trust no one.
Did get one hunk of verse done, the dying breath of a year, cursed like all years, to fade in the slow burn, though, also like all, there are stars found in the black.