Warren's New Year  

I've never been embarrassed about age--until this birthday..."[Warren Byrd] was born in 1965 on January 24th; There may have been a snowstorm, or a protest, or a hit song by a love-child...". A stone's throw away is my 50th; may my 49th ride through like an odyssey with plenty-a-booty*.

Step one will be a hip replacement in the 1st week of February. Why does it matter, eh? It is said that the pain that has immobilized some 50-65% of my get up and go will vanish. I hope it's not to good to be true; this would open doors which have been rusted jammed in my life for some time.

Step two: who is Warren Byrd the artist is a question that will be answered with excruciating attention to process. While at this writing it seems like the usual, what will be new is actual product. I'll explain. I've said much about what I will do with who in the recent past; then was close-mouthed about it because it seemed improbable. I will not exhaust the details of "flakehood" here. If one is given something to say, it should be said.

Step Three would require that I let go and let God. The Universe has always done better for me than I could do for myself. I've seen it again and again: start at moving the mountain, i.e. man your shovel, then marvel at who'll rally to.

Step Four is why I'm even here. I blast the message. I offer it up and let it's rays burn as they will.

So now, would this be a kind of mission statement if I weren't so busy trying to be causal about it all? My gemini rising says, "let 'em color it in themselves". However, the anatomy of my flake style is rife with "flexibility", the kind that often derails a "muhg". It's a vast multiverse with googles of quantum flux. Why be too rigid?

*Booty=Spoils, not Hoochie-Choochie :)

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