If you take away my words I am nothing, I have no shield. Without my wit I am defenseless.
If you could somehow take away my speech, you would castrate me. I have lived by my words and I imagine someday I will die by them. My mouth has gotten me into more trouble than I care to recall, but in the same token it has kept me from having my brains blown out.
People say that I have no brain to mouth filter, I say whatever is on my mind. This is not a conscious decision, but it makes me who I am. Ok honestly, this is bothering me; I am going to take my own advice.
Let me stop for a second.
This has been bugging me for quite some time. I can’t fucking write without thinking about what you will think about it. This is literally driving me mad, nuts, up the wall batshit crazy. Ten fucking minutes ago I was sitting on my couch watching fucking Jeopardy and I had this idea…..this fucking idea of something that I was going to write about, something that was on MY mind. I go…take a piss…grab another High Life…wait for my computer to boot up…slow piece of shit…open Word…start writing…and think of YOU!
I am fucking sick of this. I am not going to be constrained by this or by what you people who come by here and read something about some fucked up fucker in some piece of shit city think. I wish I had a goddamned microphone so I could say this; I can’t type nearly fast enough.
Seriously, sorry but I can’t fucking bear to sit here at MY computer writing MY thoughts and proofread MY fucking writing. Godamnit I know how to form a sentence and I know how many times I used “fuck” in the last paragraph. I honestly wish that I could go back to a time when the only person reading this was ME.
I should stop writing now. I can actually feel myself reading this thinking about what this or that reader will think when they are done. It is this sort of thing which causes me to lie, so I can appeal to people’s tastes. This is not the fucking place for that.
I don’t read or respect blogs that are written for their readers; therefore I will check myself right now. Ask yourself, seriously…do you consider what your readers think when you write?
Look, I need this space. I mean and meant every word in this, every feeling is completely real, but I fear it is in jeopardy. I will someday look back, if I make it that far, and think, “Writing really helped me through all that.” I have made friends here, but that is not why I came. I actually have no fucking idea what led me here…probably a hard on and a boring job.
I don’t even know what to write anymore. I feel like venting on someone for no reason. Maybe I should start a fight or take some drugs. Maybe I should go drive drunk. Where did the reckless asshole go to?
Maybe I should just sit on my couch and watch two fucking morons debate about bullshit all night while I pretend to care. Why do I even care anymore? I am on some weird ass trip tonight right now and I have my head so far up my ass I don’t know what state I’m in. This is seriously fucked. Now you people…you fucking strangers can know how frustrated I really am. I don’t even know what the fuck I am writing about anymore, seriously I am just pissed off and I really have no reason. I need a cigarette…
…oh wait, I’m fucking quitting.