Words in a crack pipe

It's happening again.
Hello. My name is Mark LaFlamme. I cover crime for the Sun Journal in Lewiston, Maine where I write news stories about the evil that men do. I also write a weekly column for the newspaper. I also maintain a daily blog on their website. At home, I write short stories. Hundreds of short stories. In the past year, I've written two novels. I have started a website on which to compile all this information. I try to write new stuff for it constantly. And now, another blog.

I think I might have a real problem. Words have become more than a mere avocation. It has become like a substance to which I am addicted. All my hours are filled with words, which fly from my finger tips after brewing and forming inside my head. Like a man addicted to the pipe, my fingers are sometimes blackened by newsprint or the keyboards. Soon I'll be shivering outside the 7-Eleven, hitting up good people like your for spare words... really, man. Anything you can spare.

Of course, there's also a good chance that I'm raving. I rave quite often, which is why I have a column and a blog. And that leads me to the big question here: what madness will fill this new space? Over what shall I rave?

I have no idea, frankly. It could become one of those highbrow places where we babble about the art of writing and the richness of literature. Bring your own flavored coffee and delicate wines I could never afford. Me, I'm a beer man.

It could be a place where lunacy reigns, like the news blog where I tend to talk a lot about monkey nipples, horse semen and nasty outhouse mishaps. The truth is, I don't know. I just know the world is full of words. I just hope somebody will be here to read mine and maybe set the tone with their own. And if you, stranger, happen to be the first, thanks for stopping by. I was jonesing, man. Jonesing real bad.