I got an itch to stitch words in sequence.
My interests are varied and interesting.
I read a bunch of books once and it was a real trip. All those deliberate little lines sneaked their way under my skin and now they're pining for release. But one must be coy with words, eh? Craft a perfect poem and you swell hearts; suffer.
I reside close enough to where there might have been a shadow over Innsmouth, if you would stretch to such a belief. And I'm guessing you would.
I'm testing these waters with ink, or pixels, or strands of code, or whatever this box is filled with.
What lurks beneath?