Some things are classic, dependable; even timeless.

I can site a few examples. The Great Pyramid of Giza don’t give a fuck. The oldest and the last of the seven wonders of the ancient world is still standing strong over four thousand years later, and it ain’t getting less pointy any time soon. I don’t see the lines of a ’57 Chevy ever going out of style, and their give-me-all-you-got guts will never let you down on the short track. A Buck 119 hunting knife, like the one forged right down the road in El Cajon, California that I’ve shined since I was fourteen hasn’t changed since the first one was boxed many a decade ago, and it would be plain un-American to do so now or in the foreseeable future.

And if those all seem like just things, then I can come up with no greater constant fitting all the above categories than the support of a woman who, for all the enemies you may have fought and bested and all of your scars and hard talk and phallic bullshit, is stronger than you will ever be in ways you cannot fathom. That right there will never fail to last you the rest of your life. That right there will never fail, period.

Like I said. Some things are classic. Dependable. Timeless.

According to our long-viewing, shortsighted friends the Mayans (among others), this world is not one of those things.

Well, neither is this blog. In fact, its return may actually be the harbinger of the impending apocalypse.

Like the world is supposed to shortly, it came to an end. My last blog post went live in April of 2010, almost two years ago. My last post of consequence went live a month or so before that, on the eve of my final departure from Nashville, Tennessee, headed for the coast.

That night I sat against an Algonquin fort of moving boxes and wrote these words…

In a few hours I’ll be airborne for Los Angeles, two thousand miles in four hours totally taking the technological achievements of my species for granted like every other fucking mung who fails to realize man was never meant to fly. I’m leaving almost four years on the table here. Four years in which I wrote my first novel, made my first “professional” fiction sale, realized the central fallacy of “professional” fiction markets, heard my first piece of fiction podcast, had my first story optioned for film, adapted my first story into a screenplay, got my first freelance screenwriting gig, saw my words on the screen for the first time, wrote dozens of columns, hundreds of blog posts, thousands of tweets, and even had a few moments for basic human interaction.

That’s a lot. You don’t feel it at the time. You’re numb to most of the wins while feeling the losses entirely too deep. You’re always waiting for what’s next, what’s expected, what’s desired, all the while ignorant to the waves of each crashing around you. You’re a man with his tibia protruding through the skin asking a bystander if your leg is broken. It’s not ‘til you’re ready to leave that you finally feel the pain and all the wonderful and illusory endorphins it generates. Four years ago I was living in Dallas, I quit wrestling, put in an application at a Virgin Megastore in Mockingbird Station, realized they could call at any time, promptly packed all my shit and fled the state. I came here to put my head down and write, nothing more. I wasn’t counting any of this as real life.

But of course it was. It always is. It all is.

A few months shy of two years later this is still true. Moving to LA was a big deal. Starting from scratch in life and in a new medium and market was a big deal. I stopped blogging to actually experience it for a change. Mostly. I also got tired of it, and of blogs and bloggers in general. I’ve kept up with Twitter (sort of), but largely I’ve just been Out Here. Unplugged. I’ve carved an existence from the bare, jagged rock. I’ve been writing. I’ve been working. Most of the time they’re the same thing. I’ve even been teaching here and there, or as much I can without becoming too full of shit. It hasn’t been glamorous (yet) and it hasn’t made me rich (yet), but I’m still here and I’ve sharpened my teeth in the interim. And it beats mid-list fiction.

Which brings us up to date. It’s 2012 and it seemed like the appropriate year to do some archiving, or more to the point make a little noise, while there’s time. You’re still here, which amazes me. Whether that’s because I once wrote something that moved you or made you laugh or pissed on your values, I appreciate it all the same.

A lot of you still care about writing, and we’ll talk about that. I’ve been focused primarily on the scribbling of them moving pictures, and we’ll talk about that, too. A lot of things are happening in our culture and others that piss me off, and we’ll definitely talk about that.

So here we are. We’re back. Or we’re going out. Or we’re going on. It depends on whom you ask. But I know one thing for sure. There’s some shit happening this year, man. Waves may be made. All of this may end. But shit is going down. It’s going to be a year of note.

I wouldn’t miss it for the world.