(Happy birthday to me. )

While I can't say that it hasn't been a frustrating morning – nigh-incomprehensible sales tax rigamarole can an idea quickly transform – it has been an accomplished one: hitting send on the announcement email was, most definitely a moment of relief and catharsis: her estate – and my memory – is settled.

(I won't say closure because closure is bullshit.)

What I intend for PRESS (A) is that it be my *print-only* home for long-form, thought out works that function as a four-seater sushi restaurant / dive in a subway station dedicated to the exploration of my craft delivered between bent covers held together with binding tape or duct tape if I run out of the former and channeled from brain to reader via my own two hands in a DIY/punk/pulp/underground comix delivery system. Bottom line: whatever I want to do goes: this is MINE.

If nothing else, I feel as though I am where I am – and for the first time in years, I'm good with it. Best birthday gift I could ask for.