Sam Rasnake digs up a grave … Ah, that Finnegan Flawnt!
So, I’ve been digging up graves. That explains why my shoulders are hurting. Or is it my attending a mini-symposium on Finnegan Flawnt (who has been described internationally as “the publishing phenomenon at the end of the last literary decade, the man who never made it past his own doorstep and yet somehow wrote a roundelay of micro prose“). Hear, hear.
Marcus Speh writes, “enjoy the myth, the grave, the dug-up grave and the enduring myth around all of it.” Yes to that. And joy of joys … I’ve become an honorary Gastarbeiter. [And this deserves all caps -] YES.
For more of the backdrop read The serious writer is but a story in a story by Finnegan Flawnt …
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I recently wrote a letter on the subject – Dear Wigleaf – published in Wigleaf, letting that organization know – to quell all the questions really and the concern that many have been feeling – as much of the day-to-day doings of Mr. Flawnt (I would say Sir Flawnt, but rumor has it he returned his O.B.E. to the Queen of England … which does make perfect sense to me) as I know or am at liberty to discuss. Here is a pertinent passage:
Somewhere a wolf howls toward morning. Somewhere a tree falls in the wind. And the cities flicker their thin walls of stars like struck matches against something you almost remember but cannot.
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I hope this helps.
sam of the 10,000 things 
I’m still awed by the writing of the good Master Flawnt and his bellyful of knowledge and his head stuffed with wisdom. Thank you for shedding some light on this illustrious yet strange enigma of personage.
I Love Finnegan Flawnt
I’m always wanted to meet Finnegan Flawnt and once I thought I saw him in the shadows but some one whispered in my ear that it was just Old Marcus Speh. I wiped my eyes and looked up at that “thin wall of stars.”