Though we will be periodically updating the exploits of the wild hermit on this blog, our main emphasis is now on our more vital, current blog, antiaging4geeks *impulse Enjoy. Read Full Story

Twisting scales and winding steps, darting up and down the hillsides, screeching up into the void, laughing at the orbs, shrieking and popping, cellular and powdered, organic and mineralized, dazzle. The many-tinted swarms infest the air overhead. The eremite stands pleased. His insect constructs usher the large missile bundles into orbit and they shower space with chromatics. The wild deranged recluse shakes his rickety fist with glee as the explosions fill the sky with a blotchy... Read Full Story

The eremite is not concerned with the rod-teaming skyglow, glancing up to notice a darling damselfly flitting about in the haze, for a vast dome is being ferried across the galaxy to cover the heath and shield it from merciless ultraviolet beams. Trapped in a time-bending warp, four pearldrop craft haul the massive dome, wreathed in twine and tangled in cosmic spaghetti, through concentric saturnine bands and elliptical orbits. Soon, the insular meads will team every instant with... Read Full Story

If shards from an astral collision glittered above the heath like a second firmament, would you fill with excitement as the eremite left his grotto? Or, would the withering sedge, compounded with the grass, flatten emotion to sentiment? Think not of the hermit, your ship is splendid and ready to race through the floating crystals. Translucent, but not opaque, watery, but not water, gleaming, but not metallic, the archcraft will propel itself in a stately arch. Since droplet squadrons... Read Full Story

The air is calm and fair this dusk. The sea rolls gently into the horizon. Black and sleek is the iPod terrain and the iPod sky. The deranged recluse awakens and tumbles out of the grotto into the opaque glassy gleam of the star-frozen forests far away from the tranquil heath. Troglodytes and spelunkers mechanically pace the fused soda ash in hamiltonian paths. Asynchronous flickers pass between astral points and points of consciousness. There is, foremost, the long line of heroes... Read Full Story

On my spirit, makes a music too. One too far for reckoning? One too devoid of purpose for the hermit to take notice? The wandering hulk does not know. He dreads the eremite but sweeps over the stellar arch on his way toward destination moon. A cosmic poltergeist, a will-o'-the-wisp of dark matter, an astral brigand, the morphing hulk flits from lunar orbit and vaporizes in the atmosphere, leeching into the damp heath soil in order to reconstitute in a subterranean cavern and brood... Read Full Story

The eremite is back on the heath. The stony rubbish of the distant city is now a distant remembrance. Glossy streams and glowing lichens populate the grainy earth. Pulse after pulse washes over the panpsychic moor. Will the aerial swathes commingle with the dingle starry and pepper gleaming cometoids down in heaps or will The Avengers, The X Men, The Hulk, and The Fantastic Four invade the meadow and compel the hermit to cast abjurations? Wild prismatic sprays spiral, perne, and... Read Full Story

Oh, how the eremite glitters and flings himself high, streams along the currents, veers around the dangling aerial amoebas, vaults over thunderheads, and returns. How he sweeps along the bow-bend and pushes the portly waves while listening to the peals roll through the cold rain. That zany recluse heaps the jazzy banding, the happy, far-out happenings, and the silly. terraced hues. And, that bleeping, flickering ENIAC blurts reds and pinks, blue and purple, as it ticker tapes out a... Read Full Story

Winding static weaves and mazy motions stutter earthward and, along with them, clouds barb each other and jab at the constellations. Never a branch. Never a branch. Crackles and pops, the neon rice krispies of the lower sky, lap at the vast fields, flash bright and staccato, orthogonal, tubular, terraced, horrible. Bows and bows and hisses. Dreams and gongs and seas. Ribbons and ribbons and ribbons. Toss the sky slabs in heaps upon the firmament. Let them suggest the glowing blue... Read Full Story

The eremite, while waddling past the ghost-warbling nightingale and careening through galactic sectors on the grecian urn, admits to himself, and to his astral retinue, that the bards who weep of lapis lazuli, dancing elves, and dolphin torn waterways, have quality control mechanisms and engineering charts that result in finer, orb-like structures on a more consistent basis, though, doubtlessly, the bard of autumn, chapman's homer, and opiated stupors reaches greater levels at the... Read Full Story