A Year or Something On or Something?

This blog is unwatched and without any audience whatsoever as I write this, stumbling upon this login (and website) made in some delusional fucked up state.

Thankfully I keep to the word processor more than narcissistic rambling on-line, I’m a self indulgent rambler that loves rambles I guess. I’m heavily into my second novel, although I don’t particularly remember writing much of it. I blame the diazepam consumption, but my output quality has seemingly improved in correlation with my short term memory’s decline.

So, to nobody reading this; this, is my struggle in writing as of the moment. I strive for authenticity in my novels amidst the enabling of some divine providence; and in searching for such I use those I know in real life as character inspirations, for the initial periods of the novel(s). Humble beginnings.

If you are in-fact reading this, you may end up seeing this word-press again someday as I write some bull-shit on it. I might try and make it a regular thing, with deniable culpability still being of the essence in my writing(s), for now, at least.

Spectrum: Part One, Baby Soul is well in progress, with my previous novel as of now being forgotten about. I’m hoping to release it within the next year, maybe vanity publish it, with such a means being a cheaper and more eloquent way of presenting the work to those close to me in comparison to that of a puritan A4 manuscript.

I want to touch upon matters morally devoid in my writings and push barriers, although some people try and tell me that there are no barriers in cinema and writing anymore. If a writing has inherent appeal and a consequently enlarging audience, anything can be considered progressive; impactful.

Anyways, someone’s distracted me as I sell ten bags.

 

 

 

 

 

self indulgent title

 

Blogging is kinda lame. I’ve never read a blog that i’ve cared about. There’s no point even reading this.

throwaway

Lolitics

Witty sentence edit:

Politics in first world countries is ‘our’ corrupt, futile attempt at harm reduction for the affluent.

At this point in the evening I have lost count on whatever it is I have consumed. Maybe it was just starbursts.

I’ve spent a long time watching people debate about politics, figureheads and all that shit. My mentality is like literally, who gives a fuck?

The world is as good and as bad as it could be. Freedom of will is not a homogenic trait distributed equally to each soul. Existence is sometimes a ‘priviledge’ althought it can more often be a torturous hinderance.

Sometimes it’s both.

A lot of the time it’s both.

But the scales of justice are uneven, discoloured. Metaphor or no metaphor.

Life is a spectrum and those on the winning colour of the Rothschild’s roulette wheel have exploited it beyond the means of any doogooder’s ego boosting act of charity.

These charities are still businesses in their own merit, but you already knew that.

Which is why the news is always the same and why I will never vote. I don’t give a fuck, this world is fucked.

Donald Trump is President of the USA.

Putin has been Russia’s unconstitutional leader for like 24 years.

The British Empire has one of the worst track records in history.

Patriotism is racism.

The world is fucked.

Help those around you and help yourself whilst you’re at it.

Helping on a broader scale is futilie. O’Brien’s waiting for you hearty philanthropists.

Well-intentioned Russell Brands are more wealth-intentioned……..

Nobody’s making it out alive.

Agnosticism’s reparations to those wronged should hopefully give them illuminati tings their due retribution.

Looking back on this a year later, like most of my strange, soberly written content, I’m led to feelings of cringiness. This is why I don’t blog and why I keep it moderately anonymous.

Silence

Remaining humble and shit is important as far as integrity goes in artistry, although you have to be kind of confident/arrrogant enough to believe that people would care about your work.

Let alone spend their drug money on it.

From here on out I have decided upon moving in silence as far as real projects are concerned. It is not always the product that is the result of the artistry; persona itself is artistry, correlating with the finished product.

It’s like where Tyler, The Creator went wrong after Yonkers.

Expecting feedback from people on unfinished second drafts was unnecessary and just pride getting the better of me.

This time I want my work to be (not so literally) literarily alchemised when the time comes that I’m lucky enough to have someone read more than the first page.

I want to educate without articulacy.

I want to broaden minds, not vocabularies.

Yours sincerely on 10 Valium,

Appiration

Inspiration

After suffering with writers block and severe depression (boo hoo) after dropping out of university I’ve decided to start writing a blog with no inspiration whatsoever, hoping that it might work ironically in my favour.

Like that would happen, right?

But yeah, I’m gonna be doing a lot of reading in the future to fuel my savant abilities with really long words and return to write many, many novels.

The publishers will be messing with Andy Durfrane.

I will never put a ‘magical negroe’ in my stories either, as Malcolm X said a long time before The Green Mile was released. That film is a fucking exploitation film and should never be compared to The Shawshank Redemption.

Divine powers or not that man was innocent bro.

Fuck off humanity.

Appiration

The Beginning of an End.

Recipe for Disaster

Welcome to my first ever post on this wonderful website. I tried making a tumblr once, paid for a skin and then deleted it because I didn’t want people to be certain of who I was.

So now I guess being enigmatic is the aim.

Alongside repeating the phrase ‘deniable culpability’.

I reviewed hip-hop with my either schizopherenic or highly-insightful views upon lyricisism for a bit. Maybe I’ll do that sometime to be a little Stan.

(Realistically, it’d be something I’d write when I don’t feel inspired to produce true artistry, much like anything posted on this blogging bullshit.)

One in seven billion.

One of my closest friends died at the age of 21 recently, and with my family slowly disintegrating i’ve decided that writing is my purpose.

Ironic that I considered an English Degree a hinderance. Fuck that shit. I’d rather do what I want to do during my limited time on this planet.

With a novel already written,  I’m like every other narcissistic drop out.

But.

I don’t write it.

I think it.

Appiration