Well call me a doubter and lend me a scoff! I can't believe you kids can get this. Blog technology just bamboozles.
I dunno what to start off with besides a formal introduction into myself, maybe exploring why I'm creating this outlet. Hi! I'm Moe Nunbady.
...Hmm. That looks weird. Let's go again. (Backspacing isn't in my nature - you can see it in the URL. Impeccable oration -and- articulation is required at The Coca-Cola Company™ [NYSE: KO], founded 1892!)
Greetings, scavengers! Seems you've climbed aboard the Shabby Nunbady (pronounced "noon-bah-dee"). The visage this here text reflects is the soul of its intrepid cap't, MOE NUNBADY! Arrr, does that salty air hoist the soul's sail and spirit the spectral on, to lands of myth and song. No emphasis, on ending - let it peter out, to a wistful stare starboard. (On the right side. [Also, forgot to encapsulate. Rats! Permeate the barrels. My integrity is shot!]) I always preferred working visually as opposed to phonetically. Words, words, words, to quote that daft ham-man, can't transmit the sensuality, the Lolitic texture, the mellifluous gravity, a half-halo of tones and coloration, of physical conversation. Call me a capitalist but I didn't requite Waldo's infatuation with the wild, its mental wooing and loo-ring. (Already, the syntax gets stretched!) Pop open a can of Coke® and all troubles bubble up in a flush of carbonated ecstasy. But my co-workers chide me for my poetic tendency (where they see this lies beyond my comprehension) and, tired of deciphering my "lyrical mumbo-jumbo" (Ahh, Joe, you silly schmoe!), threw me this rigamarole to untangle myself within. Let's be nimble with this thimble-thread together, then?
Maybe, I don't know. To what does he refer? (Who can tell? [Not me, and maybe not you!])
But before I press "post", I'd like to entice those scooting through for a first view to stick it through. Haul up the anchor, put lashed-self to mast, and push through these ravings. A pearl's sparkle spawns from its clam's schism; a thorough cleansing reveals its reflective luster. So gaze in the mirror and let it gaze in you. Let it come through. Let it make you. (And let me help you make you.) Because you can't as much find yourself in the bear-shits of the forest, the concrete of the jungle, as you can in the projections of another.
Even a presence unseen screams for acknowledgment.
Hope you're back for more!