Sometimes I check my stats and see a post I completely forgot about. Then I read the post and ask myself how many percocets I took before I wrote that. I’m referring to this post specifically.
I ain’t gonna explain it because I’m not gonna read all that shit. So I’ll just say that I disagree with everything I wrote. It’s nonsensical. Plus, I’m a changed man now. I’m off the barbiturates and I’m thinking much more clearly nowadays. So please disregard everything that I wrote from 1947 to 2023. It was a wild time in my life. Plus I was trying to fly under the radar of the CIA and the House Committee of Un-American Activities.
Stop fartin’ around. Get out of your elderly uncle’s basement. Change your underwear. Take a shower. Wash your cock. Then hawk some of your uncle’s medications to help pay $9.99 for your paperback copy of Vanitas on Amazon.com
I bribed the Hartford Courant to call Vanitas a “solid work from a mentally incompetent author” while Dick Cheney said he’d “rather be in hell than finish this book” just before he died.
So what are you waiting for? It’s only $9.99! Don’t be a fuckin cheapskate!
Anadeia has been changed to VANITAS. I simply prefer the sound of Latin over Greek. There’s no other reason for it. I’m trudging through the second and third drafts of the book but it will be ready to go come November regardless of my satisfaction with it. Perfection doesn’t exist. At some point an artist must let go.
Onto more sadder news, it will be released on Amazon. I’m not happy with the decision either but it was the only option. You can choose to support it or not. It doesn’t matter. I didn’t write the book for you.
But if you do read it, please leave a review 🙏 good or bad, I don’t care. Just make it funny. Because if you give me a dead serious bad review, I will roast the FUCK out of you on this blog and all social media using your real name if available. Just try me. I’m BEGGING you.
The only thing that sucks more than writing is rewriting because I exclusively receive satisfaction from the creative process when the product is finished. Unfortunately some people tell me that a story only comes together in editing. But in return, I tell them that they’re fucking cucks. The story comes together by DOING; by putting pen to paper. NOT dilly dallying around with it afterwards. I say this because nearly every story I’ve written gets altered dramatically once rewriting commences and almost every time it becomes a story a didn’t originally envision.
Of course this is bullshit too. It’s a lie I tell myself to justify my laziness. The term “ADHD” gets thrown around a lot but I think it’s accurate in my case here. I have too many ideas running around in my head and I try to rush through projects to get to the next one. You can’t do that. If every writer did that there’d be no good writers. A story needs to be cared for and incubated like a newborn child. And that’s where I find myself now with Anaideia (working title).
Right now my heart is with kingdom of god. It may look like shit currently but once finished it be a fully presentable and coherent story. The problem is I have another child, the aforementioned Anaideia, that desperately needs my attention and I gotta whip her into shape and get her ready for publication before November.
Kingdom of god will be put on hold in consequence. It’s bullshit, I know, but there’s only so many hours in a day.
I was minding my own business while watching porn on the work laptop when the boss man stormed in. He sat down on my desk and slammed the computer shut. Then he leaned forward to put his hand on my shoulder. “Bad news,” he informed me.
“I’m getting fired?” I asked.
He shakes his head. “No, worse,” he said. “My ass cancer has been cured.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“I am too. For in the days I believed I was facing mortality, I took comfort in knowing that my time as the boss man of the toilet factory was coming to an end. But god intervened like the bastard that he is and granted me more time on his hellish creation.” The boss man then lifted his fist to the air and cried out to the heavens. “Why oh why can’t he let my torment end?” he lamented. Then he lowered his fist and wiped a tear from his eye. “Anyways,” he continued, “one man’s tragedy is another man’s elation. You don’t have to return to school. I will remain the boss man.”
“Thank Christ!” I exclaimed. Then I opened the trash can and threw in the cyanide tablets.
So in other words, this is good news. Not the curing of my boss’s ass cancer but other part; the part where I don’t have to go back to college. It’s a day of jubilation indeed.
Last night I announced that Anaideia will be published in book form sometime soon. I’m on my third or fourth draft so far and I’ll probably have it ready before the end of the year. It’s an unusual story and if submitted, I’m sure publishers will have plenty of notes about changes that I will be unwilling to make. I am nothing without my artistic integrity. Therefore it will be self published. Because of my beef with Amazon over their hostile takeover of James Bond, it is unlikely I will be self publishing with their services. I will let you know once I find an alternative method.
But news also dropped that Dead Star Press will be releasing Stories No One Should Read, a collection of short stories written by yours truly. It’s a game changer; a paradigm shift in English-language literature. This is the critical juncture where the decades old craft of shitposting becomes an elevated art form. Future critics will both praise and curse my name.
Now if you recall, the toilet factory convinced me, essentially at gunpoint, to return to school to quote “get a real fucking diploma”, end quote. So that will be taking effect next week. My time will be limited. Mind you, nothing will ever stop me from updating this blog, not even death. But posts might appear intermittently. I partially use this website to publish first drafts of long form content, which is what I did with Anaideia and will continue to do with kingdom of god. In fact, the latter will probably take more than a year to complete since it’s my first “serious” work. If I’m not able to maintain focus, then I will return to the good old days of shit posting.
With that said, Stories No One Should Read and Anaideia will probably be the last things I will publish for the next couple of years.
Hate to toot my own horn but 2051: A Space Monstrosity turned out much better than I thought it would. I also wrote a lot more than I intended.
It’s not perfect. Far from it. And I blatantly ripped off lines from various Star Trek productions, almost verbatim, because I’m a shameless hack.
But I’m getting closer to being able to tell stories the way I want to: where I create a plot on the fly by establishing a rhythm and hitting the story beats. If you do a few setups and meet the payoffs in any ridiculous way you can, BAM…you have yourself a story.
Maybe not a GOOD story, but a story nonetheless.
My method is akin to Bill Walsh’s “West Coast Offense” in football: where players lack in athletic ability (or, in my case, artistic genius), you can make up for in precision and timing.
This runs entirely contrary to the way my high school teacher tried to teach me. It was his belief that that the secret to writing was in rewriting.
The problem I found with this practice is that my interest always waned and the magic was gone. Editing and proofreading is necessary of course, but frankly it’s boring and if I spend too much time on it, I end up hating everything about the piece itself.
It is my belief that art works best when it exists in the moment….when the artist can, however briefly, be completely honest with themselves.
So I’ve written a lot to get the practice in. And most of the stories are in fragmented pieces. Therefore I created a separate page to compile all these short stories.
…that is, once when I figure out how to get the page up on the website. Right now it looks like shit. I dunno 🤷♂️
The Internet Ruined Everything 