Dude!
I have no idea why I even have people reading this stuff anymore.
So, that last chapter was about my intention of writing a new book about stuff I wanted people in my life to know .... whatever dude.
I guess that shit isn't gonna go down like I planned it.
So tonight I sit here. I've drank a few cokes and I guess I all the sudden felt like dropping a line. I have no idea who will read it.
Actually that's a lie.
I kind of count on a few to read my stuff which quite honestly really hadn't been great.
Jajaja. I absolutely love you. Thanks for the comments. Thanks for the eyeballs. Thanks for the star.
I know I haven't been writing at any frequency, yet I still have the app on my iPhone. I do read. And not often.
I've dropped off.
I'm sorry.
I should have called this chapter confessions. Jajaja
Anyways.
I have tried to put a few chapters together and maybe I'm too critical but they always seem to be just like this where I talk to my e-friends and it actually becomes very diary like. And I totally don't want to go there.
Are these thoughts so important that I must air them out on the interwebs?
Dude. Really?
Deleted and here I am jajaja st doing what I do. Writing letters again to people I haven't met and interact with.
I promise. Dude!!!!! I will get it together. Everyday I think of stuff to write. It's a lot like fucking dreaming though.
If you write in here, you probably know exactly what I'm talking about.
Your driving along and see some cool homeless guy with his rad sign and think about his untold story..... and then when you get time to write it, it somehow becomes some weird way to how you identify with his rad little sign and then you read what you wrote about and then realize that his sign has nothing to do with your story.
Maybe you over hear someone talking about some weird quirk that their dog has and so you try to apply it to something you write and then you read it and FUCK FUUUUCCKKKK! It totally doesn't apply to anything and therefore it is stupid. So you delete that shit. Jajaja
Or you start a story about Jacque and Jill and how their argument over anything somehow applied to something and then you read it and realize that somehow you don't know how you made it about you but all the sudden there it is. . .
Black on white. I made it all about me.
Dumb. Better delete it.
Some might say that, "Dude! You are just being self-critical!"
But no. I'm not.
I respect you too much to jot down anything that isn't good. I've deleted so much shit. You have no idea. It's rough.
I want to write a masterpiece for you but can't seem to get into it. There are a few folks I love to read here. Maybe you already read them.
They put out work in such a frequency that I have reason to be self critical.
Check them out.
They're great writers. I imagine I will pick it back up again sometime. Right now, I'm blocked like a motherfucker!
My friends and not in any certain order.
ScottGoldman
CatherineMicqu
Bornpist
MelancholyMango
bayaBLUE
eliseanton
JoeCottonwood
BillTemple1957
hallucynated
They're just awesome. Great people.
They write great stuff.
Lately, I have been doing less than that.
Alright well. Be well.
Stay straight and strong.