So here we are. Back in the lab. I can’t say that I am back with original literary enthusiasm and have pulled myself from my dark little crevice or if I’m simply poking my head out to see if the world still exists only to quickly withdraw again at the first sign of light and life. I’ve become comfortable in the blind man’s holiday; acquainted with palpable obscurity and nurtured in caliginous gloom. I’ve made friends with the shadows unseen and have shaken hands with the Soulless One himself. For now, however, I have returned to the reality of hope and the promise of redemption although I am confident in neither.

As our Editor in Chief, John T. Schmitz explained, writing took a spectating seat to a world that was changing faster than could be dictated onto paper. I fell victim to the asperity of the Lady of the Stone Heart. I met a woman, fell in love, became pregnant, entered engagement, had an abortion, got married and then divorced…all in less than 100 days! I applaud our EIC in his ability to lament his feelings on the matter of divorce and separation but I myself am forced into reserved expressions of emotion. It hurts. I prefer not to think about her. I’ve read that during times of grief, one should experience the pain, accept it, become friends with it and welcome it. They say its the proper way to process grief and loss. I think they’re all full of shit. I’d rather pretend that those emotions are the result of some abstract and insignificant event equivalent to a bad driver cutting me off on the freeway. Of course it pisses me off but its temporary. You switch lanes, floor it then cut the sonafabitch off at their front quarter panel. Revenge is sweet… After two miles, you’ve forgotten the whole episode. That’s how I process pain…I cut it off at its quarter panel and forget about it. That’s not healthy, you say? Well, neither is skipping breakfast but I bet you didn’t think about that this morning when you were chugging your SuperAmerica coffee and sucking down that Malboro, now were you?

I think my friend John T. has the right idea. Get that shit out and let it bleed.

If you read The Return of Ed, then you would know that the Ed and myself decided to meet this past weekend and crash our brains into each others’ until something fell out. It turns out that plenty of ice crashed into glasses and by the end of the night I think I might have fallen once. Of course that can’t be proven or confirmed so we’ll go ahead and say it never happened…

Just a couple of guys and a couple of girls out for a friendly rendezvous. I finally met Kim for the first time. Very nice, indeed. Good job, John. I also met Kim’s friend. As I stared at her provocative lip line with *classified* thoughts running through my head, I wondered where she hid her evil heart-breaking super powers. Over the top of my glass of gin, tonic water and grapefruit juice I watched this woman gracefully miss the corner pockets and recklessly sink the long shots. I looked at my glass. About time for another. I looked into the face of this careful creation of a woman. I could see that she was working on me with some type of enchanting spell!

“Yes, waitress. Another please.”

I thought: Maybe I shall follow this dame into her kingdom. Alas! Naught shall I go without my most trusted steed to bear me swiftly away should it be wise. Nor shall I be without guard. I will possess my sturdy shield to protect me from the certain death inflicted by the poisoned tips of her love’s arrows. Furthermore, without sword I shall never be found should I choose to stay and fight! Enduring, straight and true. Fastidious in its pursuit of coital warfare.

Maybe I’m being defensive or maybe every woman is out to destroy every man. Who knows? All in all, the night turned out to be a great one. Ideas were formed and inspiration was received. There will be no scuttling of the vessel nor will there be any transfer of control of the magazine. We will patch the ship and rally the crew! Find the wind and hoist the sails! Turn hard to starboard and trim the jib! Let’s get this bad boy under way! With writers as good as those that are found on Secret Laboratory, content should be pumping out of this machine as if it were an intravaneous sleeping drug being pumped out of a needle by Dr. Conrad Murray himself. Heeee hee!

If I were drinking, I’d call this a drunken rant. Since I’m not drinking, I’ll just call it a drunkard’s rant. Until next time, I shall remain chained to my rock by order of Zeus,  tormented by eagles in punishment for my crime of stealing the passionate fire of love, lust and longing and giving it to the undeserved. I shall await my fate: whether it be my irrevocable demise or the strength in one arm of Hercules to lift me away to absolution.

Born in Atlanta, Georgia and raised in the small town of Anniston, Alabama, there’s no doubt that country living and sentiments still reside in Terencio Safford, Secret Laboratory’s managing editor.

He came a long way from his roots. He had a very unique childhood which allowed him to experience different cultures, religions and family values; this ultimately gave him a sense of awareness and acuteness that formulated his inspired outlook on life.

He graduated from Anniston High School in 2001 in Anniston, Alabama. He was recruited as a high school senior by the U.S. Army National Guard where he served two years as an Aircraft Electrician. After leaving the Army in 2002, Terencio migrated to Minnesota in 2003 in search of a better opportunity. He attended the Minnesota School of Business in Richfield studying Music Business before realizing that he wanted to pursue music as a hobby and not a career.

He has dedicated his time and talent to writing professionally. Terencio discovered his gift at an early age but pursued other talents and interests with the thoughts that writing was boring and time consuming! Now he finds pleasure and peace in formulating thoughts into creative treasures of literary prose!

Email him at terencio@secretlaboratory.org and visit him at http://www.wix.com/literaryprose/byterencio