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The sandbox is always open, my friends, for those that want to share eclectic musings, surrealist images, and aural delights. My name is Mark Sieber, middle name of Dylan, after Thomas, not Bob. However, I’ll answer to Vlad as well.

As you might already suspect, I detect the melody of the written word and can visualize the back-beat in a pop song. That’s perhaps why I think in ringtones and post in sound-bites.
But, most of all, I celebrate the moments and the small splendors that enrich our soul.

That ancient sandbox here at Marklewood is flanked in the corners by large bronze urns of yellow peonies & azure-blue lobelia. Behind it is a meandering creek lined with ancient willows.
And if we run scarce of provisions, there is always the bait shop down the dirt road. Not to fear, a zombie hasn’t been spotted in this area in several decades.

My spirit navigates freely from that of Pied Piper to bookworm to Lord Fauntleroy to that of a Bohemian crusader. You best pour a healthy cup of coffee or glass of pinot noir.

By trade, I am a disengaged designer, scribe, and recidivist currently living in the hinterlands of Raleigh, North Carolina. I strive to be kind and I seek out those moments of hope that indeed refuel my soul. Often, the most potent of inspiration is found in random human connections, unexpected art finds, and the magic that cloaks our world.

And, yes, we have pets here at Marklewood: a dozen at most recent census. I refer to them fondly as the Twelve Noble & Apostolic Pusses, but they are much more than any label or moniker would suggest. All are indeed rescues or their progeny, with five having been elevated to “indoor” status. The other seven serve sentry here in the stillness of an ancient pine woods.
Alas, poor Tartuffe has been missing since May of ’10. Legend has it that he has embarked on some grand theatrical adventure, perhaps in New York. But I like to think that his spirit hovers over head.

“I have stretched ropes from steeple to steeple; garlands from window to window; golden chains from star to star, and I dance.” — Arthur Rimbaud

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