Long as I can remember, I’ve been thinking of getting out. Comes with the territory, I suppose; I came of age in a real-life dystopian wasteland, a carcinogenic ashcan for God’s cigars called the Wyoming Valley. Those mountains penned me in until I screwed up the courage and currency to get over them, and then I wasted six years accruing degrees just to make sure that I could.
Turns out, getting out and getting learned just fanned the flames on my nascent wanderlust. There’s this whole big world, and it’s looking like I’m going to twitch and stare wistfully into the distance until I see all of it.
Adventure’s great and all, but the old heroes were right, you gotta immortalize it in song. Or at very least an epic poem. Unfortunately, songs ended with Pachelbel and poetry is about as passe as it gets. Sorry, tortured souls all yearnin’ and a-burnin’ for expression.
Enter the Bastard blog, my personal wanderer’s chronicle. I take a trip whenever I can finance it, and with school squared away, I expect to finance it a lot more often.
A side note: Some of you might’ve run across my Postcards from the Fringe, so you know that absurdity follows me around even when I’m stationary for a few months. It makes believing in “real life” a challenge, but truth told, that’s probably the best way to live. I opted not to call this blog postcards upon learning about Carrie Fisher’s biography, “Postcards from the Edge”, and further learning I couldn’t press charges against her estate because she plagiarized this particular piece of my intellectual property four a few months before I was born. Crafty.
Without further ado, let me just say welcome to the circus.