Hello and welcome to Diary of an Adamant Seducer.
I am your host, Bartleby Willard. And this is our story, the story of the time that Bartleby Willard and Amble Whistletown couldn’t take it anymore and so they left what used to be called Wandering Albatross Press. They left what is now known as Skullvalley After Whistletown Bookmakers. They were upset with themselves, each other, management, and the general circumstances within which they found themselves.
And so WAP/SAWB/WhateverItWasAndWhateverItIs lost their staff writer and their staff editor. Did they care? But Tun Whistletown and Archangelbert Skullvalley are eternal beings who float though and bend timespace at will. They are too blessed and eternal to care about the comings and goings, the pouts and flurries of mere mortals.
Still there did remain at the SAWB Building @ Somewhere Sometime Wallstreet, Isle & Borough of Manhattos, New York City, NY, USA, North America, Americas, Earth — there did there remain — or perhaps you’ll say linger — one member of the staff who cared.
His name: Kempt Whistletown, youngest of the Whistletown brothers, and who — like Amble — is ensconced in a particular (albeit evolving) timeplace and must live and die within that temporal and spacial cage. This cage is a long tunnel that burrows through the heart of it all even as it winds its empty-headed way across this realm of fleeting happenstances. It is what it is. We can’t all be immortal.
Author: Bartleby Willard
Editor: Amble whistletown
Copyright: Andy Watson