As Expected

It seems Anh Tu has backflipped and started up his blog again. By the look of his first two posts, I'd say it was worth it.

Booty Becomes Him

There's a billowed black man crouched under some overhang, screaming things at Harry. Of all the things he yelled, only "Write 'bout pirates!" was comprehensible. Harry pretended not to hear and ducked behind some steep rocks near a beach cliff. But "Write 'bout pirates!" caught an ocean breeze and followed him.
"I can't! I can't!" complained Harry. "I—I'm too lazy. You're better off without me."
"But it was your idea!" reasoned the wind.
"Yeah? Well..." Harry shifted his gaze mysteriously and leapt into the surf.
The breeze laughed.
"You'll catch your death!" it called.
"That explains zombie fever," said Harry, emerging from the ocean like Rowan Atkinson in Dr. No.

I never saw him again. It seems he joined a Seona Dancing cover band and burnt out to death.
"You've poisoned this post, just like you did with that other one," I said to his grave.
It remained silent.
"Write 'bout pirates!"

The wind crackled like four unsolved mysteries.

Link

Here's that picture. Ignore the joke below and you should be fine. In an unrelated key, I slightly updated my top ten/eleven a few posts down.

Return of

For the passed few weeks, I've been mulling around Yorkshire pitching my sitcom ideas to washed-up executives wandering the moors (as some of you may have guessed), and I feel it only right that I should let you under my flood gates. Upon return, it has struck me in a rather wintery way that we, the people, are the product of they, the other people, and that this distinction, important though it is, is utterly trifling in comparison to some of the other ground-breakers of human conditioning. Nevertheless, its concoction was the third most important occurrence that occurred during my Yorkshire sabbatical.

Higher up on the list is an incident that took place in a bar for trendy folks, the name of which aptly described how much life there was in it. I had merely chanced upon the small cavern at the end of an alley and decided to wet my palette non-alcoholically when out burst a steady stream of acquaintances, near-friends and a friend, almost knocking me to the tiles. In their hands, each had a snapping cell, which they all held in front of them and pulled faces at. Kudos for Ben for not once wrinkling into the 'Oh my God! I'm having such a great time! Whoo!' face in that batch, though.

After I had washed myself of that encounter, I was beaten to death by someone who I saw fatally fall off a tall building, and was glad that I was; there's good living left in me yet.

I Know You've Been Dying to Hear (Slight Return)

Well, here we are again, knee-deep in some more changes. The other changes aren't quite so drastic — excepting, of course, the mass delete.

Harry: My Love

[Deleted]

Definitely up there with the worst. Harry's fault.

Bye Bye Pride

Yours truly, the coward. You know.

Back in Bluestone

Well, over the passed few weeks I've been conducting a minute experiment with small-growth forests in the Alpine District of Melbourne, and now I'm ready (almost) to publish my results. On the whole, it was certainly worthwhile, and if I were offered a minute, I would do it again, but my findings won't exactly burn through academia. The problem was that there isn't that much about trees that we don't already know, and what we do already know isn't particularly interesting to anyone but tree enthusiasts.

That said, there have been times where boys of bold colours (A.T.T., B.H., H.B., T.F.D.) poked a nose or two in curiosity, and found the findings startling, particularly in lieu of prior hermitude. Some have attributed it to a bunch of correspondents in said place, whose free (for the most part) hospitality would have provided an attractive bonus on a trip, but this, regrettably, was mostly concocted to convince certain backers of my experiment that I would be in safe hands, and that worry shouldn't worry them. Although, had it been true, it would have been a very wise thing, especially considering things like over-solitude and swallowed funds. Right now, I really wish I had a less stale pen back then, and knew of more Alpines, perhaps intimately, prior. But that's spilt milk. 'Twas nice regardless of an empty side, and sometimes even because of it.

Oddly enough, I found two new species of trees. I told B.H. in a Fitzroy caf. last week and believe me, he did not. So I took him out to see them, and see them, he did. I think he believes now.