I wrote this text when I was in college. I am under the impression that many people have read this work without my consent. My privacy has been continuously violated as I try to just write. The justification for the violations in my privacy has been justified as a repercussion to the fact that I have not merely taken the "dick" that they have tried repeatedly to shove up my ass. Instead I have been resistance to powers and numbers that outsmart and out finance me consistently. Leaving me in a place of desperation, making foolish mistakes that are highlighted for others to exploit on a larger scale. My one and only message, expressed different ways and times over is this: for every existence there is a narrative. That narrative is either beautiful or ugly solely based on the perspective we have ascertained. The text you are about to read assuming you are not part of the many who love what I have to offer, but tarnish me and my well being with a great deal of satisfaction, then you will quickly come to see that this is novel of extreme vulnerability. Written in a time in which I used my gift for writing poetry to try and shift the perspective others, I wrote this peace to try and shift my own narrative. For I truly grieved my own existence. I needed to identify the source of this grief and I needed to reframe it into a narrative of hope and perseverance. I can only say this from a place of honesty in retrospect, for when I was in arena at battle with myself, I never once considered this my motive. Rather I could not stop writing. I had nurtured these sensitive characters from a very deep place in which I did not understand and set them off on their own adventures. I had a duty to find the resolution for them otherwise I was left in a place of daunting incompleteness. To the silent few who support me from a distance, I have to believe you hear my laments, thank you for reading and showing your support in the ways that you can. For the many who hedonistically bask in the indulgence of my suffering. In my loneliness. In my desperation for justice for the countless hours of hard work. To those who tarnish my name and fail to recognize their mere relevance is contingent upon their association to it. Suck a fat bag of dicks. I am horny for my own suffering. I sit down and write and shake things up in a way that you can only fantasize. You dislike me because I am an arrogant prick. Be me. Give it a try. If I were you I would hate me too. Come with any justification to invalidate the inauthenticity of my work and what I stand for. But I stand. I stand because I have rewritten the grief of my own futility into that of tremendous hope. If you read this it is my hope that the adventure I went on in the exploration of my psyche provides a similar experience. With hope your suffering will be greater. Your loneliness will have all the more profundity. But you will feel. To live in accordance with hope is to be of the righteous character. To be righteous in this world of cheap greed, opportunistic selfishness, and complex relationships with pleasure is to lose. I will lose. You will read my story and understand a loser. But in my eyes I have to believe that it is better to lose for what is right then to win in what is wrong. This is isn't a statement of judgment, but what it is a harsh critique of those who have done wrong by me. Do what you must to persevere in this challenging life, but draw the line when it comes at the expense of those you care for. Draw the line when it comes at the expense of those trying to enact a positive change. Fight for the fighters.
If I had to sum up with this story is about in as short as possible: A man loses love and overcomes great adversity in the pursuit of hope.
