Where's Robotnik?

S'io credesse che mia risposta fosse
A persona che mai tornasse al mondo,
Questa fiamma staria senza piu scosse.
Ma percioche giammai di questo fondo
Non torno vivo alcun, s'i'odo il vero,
Senza tema d'infamia ti rispondo. . (from Dante's Inferno, & The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock)*

Over at Auf Auf Aleksandr, our friend Robotnik seems to have met with foul play at the hands of a "Federation of the Retarded Miners" who speak mangled cryptic phrases and claim to have slain Robotnik.

Robotnik is dead! Long Live Robotnik!

Hey, as you can see from my long list of archives, I've done this blogging thing a long time. I've had a couple of lulls where I didn't do much writing, and this last couple of weeks has been blah and mostly abpregnancyancy and not so interesting to read or write. But I am in a phase which I'll either get out of or not. But since I'm writing for me, really, and I'm always delighted that other people actually read what I write, it doesn't matter. This is my journal, really. I do really enjoy a conversation, though, and when people comment and I get something going to the tune of more than 10 comments, I feel ridiculously happy. I miss the lively conversations we sometimes have and have recently thought hard about a post that would drag you all into a conversational melee. One has not, as of yet, been forthcoming.

So I popped in to Auf Auf and posted some comments to try to keep the game afoot there. If playing's what ya want, then I can play too. I remember getting into long silly competitions on the message board I used to frequent with a couple of real characters-- and it was fun.

As for me, pregnancy aggravated carpal tunnel syndrome, with numb tingling fingers, has caused me to avoid the computer this week other than these updates and occasionalonal observation about firemen.

As Bloggers, we'll live, or we won't.

So to my friend Robotnik, of the crumudgeon-ly responses, defamation of Albequerque, Oscar the Grouch meets Bukowski meets David Lynch movie-writing script: to turn into a fossil of ourselves would suck, so go for the burn, man. Enjoy your time in the afterlife and come back with a message for us we haven't yet heard.

**********

*Babelfish makes a mess out of it, but here's a good definition of the Canto:

1] The epigraph comes from the Inferno of Dante's Divine
Comedy (XXVII, 61-66). Count Guido da Montefeltro, embodied in a flame, replies
to Dante's question about his identity as one condemned for giving lying advice:
"If I believed that my answer would be to someone who would ever return to
earth, this flame would move no more, but because no one has ever returned alive
from this gulf, if what I hear is true, I can reply with no fear of
infamy."