(FROM Popeye- Return to Sweet Haven Village-
THE FIRST GOON WAR The war was a draw. The few surviving goons retreated, limping across the xxx sea. Their losses were horrendous. Thousands of Goon corpses took weeks to sink below the calm blood stained sea. What remained of the invasion force, The Sea Witch and her honor guard, fled on one small boat, and perhaps six or seven other boats carrying mostly deserters who were spread far and wide. Many of them died from their wounds or from drinking seawater during the journey home. A year later, Papeye, The Mayor, and other dignitaries met the Sea Hag to arrange an armistice, if not a lasting truce. It is not lasting now.
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First off, the above text was a direct copy/paste of a first scribble from Popeye- Return to Sweet Haven Village- a story I began writing on Evernote. I begin work with notes and rough out all of my poems and stories on Evernote. Despite all efforts by Bending Notes (Evernote’s new corporate parent), to screw up Evernote, Evernote is still the best note-taking and organizing platform around. I have over 600 bits and pieces of stuff floating around, and I’m jabbing at them here and there all of the time.
As those notes evolve into works, I move them to Blogger Files and work on them there to evolve them to their final form (we all know there is no such thing as a final form). I’ve been using Blogger much longer than Evernote. Maybe 15 years compared to 10. Yes, they both have pros and cons, but I’m very competent with them and seldom lose anything for long. (more later)
Now that I’ve run out of time to cancel auto-renew on my WordStress account, I suppose I’ll mess about with it for another year. Now I can continue sacrificing my dwindling creative impulses by spending way too much time trying to develop the private fantasy site I’ve desired. Maybe it’s just that I didn’t pick the ideal theme to begin with, or look at the endless number of tutorials for any time at all. I’m compulsive and never found time for that stuff.
True, I’ve approached the goal of building a nearly functional site a couple of times. As recently as maybe about two months ago, it was working very well for nearly half an hour. I’ll never know what happened. I did something that scewed my menu and all of my carefully lined up categories and their subs went way all out of sorts. It’s truly a perpetual problem.
Maybe I missed a final save. Menu items look ideal on the layout boards, but somehow revert to crossword clues rather than their answers. I have spent more time fussing with this program than creating fresh material for my three subscribers. Unfortunately, when we moved to Santa Fe, our new home didn’t have a pool.
Fortunately, there is a shop in the mall that sells functional and erotic fountain pens. They are not cheap, but one will get through TSA boarding when we return to India in the fall.
(FROM Popeye- Return to Sweet Haven Village- THE DEATH OF POPEYE)
As war approached, its signs were subtle yet inevitable. Flocks of crows and ravens filled the normally sky-blue sky. For three full days, less than twilight could penetrate the murders and congresses screaming above the one placid village. At night, they roosted in every tree, on every roof peak, lamp post, and every high point throughout Sweet Haven Village was at night. At dusk, all was black across the land but for the bare reflection of lamplight barely shimmering from lamplight and gimmering ever so dimly across the white land of bird poop thick as a light day’s snow. X
The ravaging cawing crows and ravens departed as swiftly as they had come. The sun rose on the fourth or fifth day. No one at the time really knew. The horrendous and constant sound of cawing and heckling avians had driven everyone indoors and under their covers, pillows tightly pressed over their ears, cowering in every way, hoping to silence the noise.
They cautiously lit from their homes, deaf from titanus, blinded from the sun reflecting across and from every angle of shrouding white bird doo.
Only then did the rains begin. Warm, light, and innocuously spotty at first. Normally pleasant as such, but the warmth and moisture caused the landscape to heat. The landscapes humus odor soon turned to a nauseous smell. An overwhelming stench of slowly melting, dripping, and running bird doo was so horrible that the townsfolk returned indoors.
It was maybe a week, not more than ten days, since XXX when the storm began its earnest assault. Cold, hard, pelting rain driven by harsh wind, blowing sleet and hail pounded the quiet coastal community, accompanied by <something>. There was no snow, only ever forming mushier bird goo and the challenging soft glow of daytime darkness. Nighttime was now less than black frozen hell.
what is this post’s secret message
Oh, yes, I’m typing much better, almost exclusively, on my laptop’s keyboard. And, I’m becoming more confident composing directly on WordPress posts. Now, if I can only get these menus to work!
torn words, 
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