I have spent so much time as of late feeling utterly vacant inside. No not vacant, vacant would infer absence. I am far from emotionally absent. The world itself though is exasperating, I find it performs daily like a car battery on cement. If you have read my past postings you are probably aware I lost my mother back in 2011 and well this March my father joined her in oblivion. Both now shuttled away to haunting my grey-matter as fond memories of worse times wrapped in some of the best times each with a truly unique portion of regret of wasted times.
Now I refuse to be the type of person who foolishly romanticizes any aspect of themselves or their existence because I am all too self aware of how trepidatious that can be. Memory as I have talked about it numerous times is flawed and really only truly matters to the perspective of the owner of that memory. It is a unique thing and should be at best shared as folklore for children and a crutch for the owner during times of duress. So after no small amount of rambling on my part let me get to the fucking point. So much time recently has been spent pointlessly feeling sorry for my self while I swan dived into depression kept afloat merely by the will power of my wife and children for without whom I would have probably checked out of this shit show of a carnival show long long ago. No pity required none wanted, fuck off if you present me any that is not what this is about. They kept me going is the point in this paragraph and, for that I can never repay them; I can only strive to be worth the effort put forth. Whether they knew it or not they are seraphim in a world of shit covered sirens.
So now after all the pissing and moaning I get to announce that a portion of that pain was transferred into a story. It wont present itself as relevant when you read it but it is there and it is very much a part of me. The story you might wonder is We’re Gonna Talk About This. I am fortunate enough to have it published by through the amazing folks over at 2tigersllc and you can grab it here Buy My Book Because I said So . The journey itself was exhausting and at times entertaining and has allowed me to prepare myself to release further books and nonsense.
The moral of this? Do not sweat shit. Do not let shit cripple you. Fuck people if they are agents of fear and mindless order. Love those who embrace their own chaos and present themselves as the angels of oblivion we all are. There need not be a reason for any of this other than that it is. The idea must be though to be present for it when it occurs. More to come my madmen and woman.