Notification of Impending Mutation

Please note.
Lesser Known Works has always been a great source of pride for me. I am aware that I am neither widely read nor greatly impacting the cosmic flow of ideas in the universe. What I am doing is what I have always wanted to do. I am writing not only for myself, but for others. This is a small stage, I know. But I prefer not to think of it as a tinker toy tower next to the great pyramids, or the empire state building. I prefer to think of this miniscule stage as a lonely star in the great dark universe shining constantly, if feebly, into the great beyond in the hopes that one day, maybe light years and light years later, on another distant lonely star, someone will hear my tiny voice and feel something important. Maybe they won’t feel so alone. And because of this, I myself, the feeble light shiner, feel less alone just thinking about it.
Which brings me to my next point.

The book, my friends, is bunk.
I cannot write it.
This new revelation comes to you in light of some news that many of you may find shocking, scandalous, outrageous, appalling, and perhaps even nauseatingly girly.
I want to get married.
Please stop feigning composure. I am aware that this statement should be accompanied by the loud boom of explosives, and dynamite, and screaming fireworks, the sudden incessant wailing of small children, and perhaps a few dying animals. Please also note that this is not happening right away, and you must save your best roman candles for a while yet.

Specifics are not important to me yet. But I realize that one day I will greatly expect the inevitable change, as things and people do continually change.

Says Shelley:
“Man's yesterday may ne'er be like his morrow;/ Naught may endure but Mutability.”

This mutation of my role in humanity does not change the necessity of this feeble light I call LesserKnownWorks. Yet the things that have been said here are not exactly conducive to married life, the future, and the possibility of one day creating Rafaelas (see immediate previous entry).
How can one change, but to throw off the chains of torrid memory, the phantoms that fetter you to your former self?

Says Wordsworth:
“Truth fails not; but her outward forms that bear/ the longest date do melt like frosty rime.”

These things need to melt. I can’t resurrect them any longer, and I can’t keep the parts of myself alive that time would like to bury. I need to let them die softly away into the recesses of memory. Publishing them would achieve the exact opposite of what I originally aspired to do.
You see, I thought that by going through my overloaded phone contact book, writing vignettes, conjuring my worst images and purging myself of them in front of everyone would prove that I am changing and am done with all the muck of erroneously finding myself. But the truth is that this constant conjuring prolongs the purging process.
When I taught at the alternative school we used to have a policy that new students would not be judged by why or how they had gotten there. They had a clean slate. And they were graded on how hard they pursued their potential best, at whatever level that may have been.
You see, despite your worst days God has given you many choices in this life. He will forget your past much quicker than you can, if you let him. Clean slate. New start.

The “Waiting By The Phone” project at Lesser Known Works will be no more, in response to the needs and true character of its author.
Future posts regarding a Young Adult fiction book will follow, as well as a few unfinished entries from the “Waiting By The Phone” series. However, all ancillary entries to this series shall cease, though they may still exist online for posterity.
If you were wondering, the multitudinous numbers will be deleted from my phone regardless of the existence of a vignette for each. I will lose them forever. But this new change is a much better forever.

LesserKnownWorks will remain alive. However, for the purposes of the death of this series, Sarah Teasdale once penned a good epitaph:

“Remember me as I was then;
Turn from me now, but always see
The laughing shadowy girl who stood
At midnight by the flowering tree,
With eyes that love had made as bright
As the trembling stars of the summer night.

Turn from me now, but always hear
The muted laughter in the dew
Of that one year of youth we had,
The only youth we ever knew
--Turn from me now, or you will see
What other years have done to me.”