So, do I feel so good, I can post another freelance?
Sure, why not!?
BTW, if you want to check out stuff I posted since I began this blog, you might wanna check out the archives. Use the following:
[marathonman.blogpost.com/?/2002_04_01_marathonman_archive.html]
Just to inform you.

Okay, this next freelance, in another nutshell, tells of how I started this freelancing business. First, I will reiterate that there is no such thing as the crazy rastaman from the indies. It was an old fable started by a bunch of junior high school students, with nothing better to do than to think of what happens when you throw straws at the local boogeyman. Second, it will sound more like a story than a freelance. But hey, they are my freelances.
On another note, I have always wanted to start my freelances "from the far side." But when I realized that was the name of a comic, and also the name of one of my favorite comics, I had to be a little more creative. Hence, from the other side...

Crazy Encounters with The Crazy Rastaman

"Psst. Hey yo! I heard you talked widat crazy rastaman in the shaft!"
Yup, and I heard the stuff 'bout the crazy rastaman in the shaft.
But guess what, he's human like the rest of us!

One night, I bolted out of my house.
In anger, depression, complication, overfrustration.
I heard a voice echoing from the walls;
the breath functifying the shaft in which he dwelled upon.
I entered.
This bony body crackling off the table; he smoking marijuana preaching:

"Jah meditation.
Israel white immigration.
Total concentration.
I'm not to stop and caught I'm in police station."

In made no sense, and perfect sense at the same time.
It was cool, in a poetic sortaway...

He saw me.
I tried turning around; but cold feet are a coward's worst enemy.
He looked and said:
"Boy whatcha doin afta bedtime? Burnin dem troubles?"
I don't burn... What do you mean... What do you know about my troubles?
"Make sense now, man. You only trying to complicate and being ridiculous with dem mental capacity, you know. You can't be yellowman and run forever. You don't burn emotion. You express it. You use your creativeness that Jah rasta-fari gave you! Put pen to paper; and burn dem paper til your brain empty!"

Before I could respond... he was gone.
And so was his marijuana. And his Jah meditation.
What sound advice!
But no... then I would be judged by my writing;
people would read it and read it over and over again.
But heartbreak is no one's friend; and cold feet are a coward's worst enemy.
So... I took pen to paper. And that's how I started freelancing.