I don’t wanna dwell on the end of things too much, but I’ve gotta close down the past before I can go back home to the future.
The following text is from an email sent to Rumond Taylor, Ritch Hall 2 and Chinedum Richard Ofoegbu …
I hate to say this, but based on what appear to be irrefutable facts, in my life as well as yours, I don’t believe that any of us have the stamina to participate in the program I originally envisioned. It’s just not in us. To be seven months behind on a fairly insular assignment with no remote display of trying to get it done (or even, in the case of Ritch’s video-game playing tweets, interest, given the hot potato assignment he caught and never submitted anything for), combined with my impending scion … it’s just too much. We can’t get it together.
Which is not, by itself, a bad thing. We’re living our lives. We’re handling things. We’re paying bills and trying to keep significant others happy and breathing as Black men in a world seeking our destruction. I am not writing this with a whiff of anger or disappointment — it simply is what it is, and I’m as guilty as anybody of de-prioritizing this work, and even more stupidly, trying to do it in public before I had the machinery in a well-oiled state.
Which is not to say the lessons are over. I will be reformatting the website (and keeping all your work online, so worry not about losing the reference should you wanna have that) into a sheer blog, where I’ll combine my regular blog fu about a wide variety of topics (currently slated: technical, futurism, random, writing and a few more I don’t remember) with an interspersing of the lessons I planned to teach you, complete with exercises. Who’ll do ‘em? No idea, and even less concern. If you’d like me to look over your stuff, or post it, sure, no problem. I’ll surely post links to any of your work I see, as well as maintain the Pipes feed (while probably taking myself out of it, as I think I hogged it up anyway).
But The Hundred and Four as we currently know it is dead, and that’s just the way the cookie gets stomped on and completely obliterated. You owe me nothing, and we’re all good.
I hope to see more of each of your writing, outside of my own umbrella (ella, ella, ey, ey, ey). Shade and sweet water, travelers. We will speak again.
So there’s that. In case you missed it.