Writing now on a backup that I got only to write on – a little bit bigger than a tablet with about the negative of nothing of the power, but it has an actual keyboard. A small one for people with small, perhaps proken fingers, but a keyboard that I can FEEL just the same. This is the new scratch of the pens I wrote with since I was 13. Its all about the FEEL.
37 fucking years ago.
Listening to Pink Floyd as loud as I can without – well, not giving a fuck about the neighbors at all until they complain,I pretnd to sleep for about 30 minutes and then wake to …I don’t know anymore.
This life has become sloppy.
There was once a time where it was beautifully constructed chaos and gods I wish for something I don’t know already as I swim in this bowl and I hate fucking HATE thinking that “I was once a God” but fuck you, I was and we all knew it…
Was it the magazine that cut so deep?
A dream, based in your love & belief. A DREAM based in passion and need and when it came down to it, I didn’t know how to monetize it – it was far before its time – and eventually all the work took its toll.
I blather, I’m pisssed off that I need to try to write on this abhorrent tiny keyboard and I PROTEST for no effective reason at all.
SO, I ask you and sincerely request a response from those who have taken the time to read and follow …become me again?
Can you help me