I talk a’buncha shit on here but truth is I’m a damn joke. A bloviatin,’ pontificatin’ bitter joke. Goin’ for this above-it-all neutrality. Don’t fall for it, it’s a farce (that D@#$s article comes from a very real place, a ride I know all-too-well; ‘ride’ may have been a poor choice of word). I’m CLEARLY showcasing my ‘issues.’ Alienation. Awkwardness. Inadequacy. A need for approval. A need for closeness. But too afraid to admit it. Too needy when I have it. Just all that makes-you-wanna-slash-already-slashed-tires manic-depressive so-called-artist shit. All (barely) hidden behind faux-bravado. With that said, I’m not gonna stop writing this stuff. Sorry. I kinda gotta go all in now. Might be my only way outta this full’a shit an’ fraudulence parade I’ve called a ‘life’ for a little over thirty spins. But most importantly: I REALLY like doing this shit.