Rendered unseen, unheard, unread... that is the everlasting death of any would-be, and or, will-be artist. For it is there, in the cold, black depth of anonymity, that we slowly atrophy. A life unsung. An empty grave. A world unimagined. A story never told.
Isn't it true that we are children, learning to behave, and yet seeking the solace of mischief? Is it not true that our deepest desires involve the sublime acknowledgement of the simple fact that we matter, that we count... in some meager, humble way?
I have been doing this for over twenty years. Twenty years spent sitting on my ass gazing into the flickering, emotionless eye of my Optiquest Z70 monitor. In that time, I've come to the realization of two undeniable truths. One: that I must do this... that I am compelled to do this... urged on by an impetus born somewhere beyond my conscious mind. Two: that I cannot do this alone. True, it is hard work. Not hard work in the way and the effort it takes to build a house, or a bridge, or a vast, length of highway, but hard work for the mind and the heart and the emotions, which play havoc on an eager, ready brain. Harder still would be this effort made without the support and love of my dear and wonderful family; or without the friendships, I have been most fortunate to garner throughout my limited years on this planet. I love you Mom and Dad, Greg and Nic. I love you Andy and Amy and Hank. I love you Chef, John, Eric, and any other person I failed to mention who has, in one way or another, great or small, been a positive influence on my life. I feel your presences, more so than any god, imagined or otherwise. It is in your honor that I fight... still, after all these years. I will continue to do so, until the day I can fight no longer.
Blessed be the fighters! Blessed be the warriors of the working day!
So here, it is... my humble web sight. Strange... all this: the Internet, the World Wide Web and its pervasive pornography, its inactive reactions to a changing, developing world. They all seem to inspire me with an undefined sense of loathing, as well as a child-like fascination.
I live to write, and in essence, I write to live.
This will be the one and only disclaimer anywhere on this sight. If for some reason you are not mature, if you lack the wit and initiative to make up your own mind, if you happen to be devoid of all rational thought and are a vacuous puddle of stupidity and ignorance... or if you are offended by mature themes and language... read no further. I repeat, if these things upset your fragile tendencies and delicate sensibilities, READ NO FURTHER.
To those who think with their minds and feel with their hearts... enjoy, and thank you for visiting my website.
Everything in www.kevacho.com, and I mean everything, is copyrighted, unless noted otherwise. None of it, and I mean NONE OF IT... may be reproduced in any form whatsoever without the written permission of the author. That means me.
Much thanks... Astarna. Visit my links if you want a kick ass website. |
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