H.C. Blackburne, born of simple means, was not expected to
live as an infant. Doctors angrily left him for dead. Nurses prayed, mothers
wailed, and nuns beat their breasts. Angels’ tears washed over the rock and
soil. Naked and near death, he sucked mud and earth in last gasp to maintain
terrestrial existence. And the divine libation granted him health. Not
ungrateful for his salvation, he fought the arduous path unhesitated in the
defense of truth and the creation of beauty. His metal tempered by heat from
the battled embers of defeated demon's eyes. He now bestows his knowledge to
the common, garden-variety idiot, so that a boy may grow to be a man, a man may
grow to be a king, and a king may pay ransom to keep the mouths of duped whores
sealed.