it strikes a timbre most foul…


My name is a wall

I’m changing my name.  Like most of us I had no hand in choosing my name, but unlike many of you my name pays homage to a bad man, and my association with him has come to an end.  Oh, it doesn’t really matter that he was a violent man, responsible for the murder-suicide that took my dear mother from me.  I’m quite a violent man myself.  Violence is always with me at the peripheries of my consciousness.  Waiting.  Always coiled and ready to strike.  Anyway, I don’t wish to dwell on that — his violence or mine — I won’t mention it again.  I’m sorry now that I did say anything.  I want to rid myself of his name because it lacks a certain euphony:

X X.

In my mind it strikes a timbre most foul.  

“If I don’t write to empty my mind, I go mad.”
— Lord Byron

About istsfor manity

i'm a truncated word-person looking for an assemblage of extracted teeth in a tent full of mosquitoes (and currently writing a novel without writing a novel word) and pulling nothing but the difficult out of the top hat while the bunny munches grass in the hallway. you might say: i’m thee asynchronous voice over in search of a film....
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