Post #1. Feb. 27, 2019 Every life begins as clean as the wind, and ends up smeared top to bottom with permanent, sticky, filthy, error-soaked brown stinking mud. Mine did, too. I was born to a mother who really wanted me and to a father who, says Mother, didn't care at all. They conceived me on Thanksgiving night, both of them drunk. At my grandmother's palatial home in Winston-Salem, North Carolina. On Lynn Avenue. I was born in Wake Forest Baptist Hospital and brought home to a rental house which strangely had an address that matched my day of birth: 822 Rosemary Lane. I kind of love that Rosemary Lane part. It was 60 years before my mother was informed that the address matched my birth date. I was badly matched to my mother, and to my eventual brother. They are exactly alike: robotic utilitarians, money lovers, practical, unemotional, and not a creative atom anywhere in their DNA. I, on the other hand, am extremely creative, emotional, lively, dramatic, tending t...