consider this as some form of a redundancy note, an excuse ridden explanation of my self. an evaluation if you will- no lies, all truths.
i'm getting progressively closer to fully and finally admitting defeating and throwing in the towel, the looming 'tortured artist' status may be applied without the upshots that the title provides to the poor fucker has. i don't want to be one, but i seem to fittingly fit the bill-but once again as previosuly noted without any artistic merit. almost giving in and just become part of the disgusting society that i comment on and despise and promised myself to not join.
but i can now see the appeal. it isn't living, it's waiting.
welcome in the cliches, it's better to have loved and lost. its ok to grip your 15 minutes of fame and nostalgically shine light among the minutes, deluding yourself into thinking that the minutes meant something. 99 times out of 100 they will not be remembered by no one.
honesty comes in many forms. fact based truth is unfortunately the realm in which i live, the brutal world where failures are real, demeaning and fucking hard hitting. the childlike innocence of seeing the world as a magical place where anyone can be a success, the ugly happy.
[james, i hope you read this as unfortunately i'm close to saying that i've been defeated. i've been broken, i failed in trying to deduce meaning and life from medway.]
dealing with the dark.
and so, as i don't know-i really don't. there is still a chance, the future is unwritten.
keep it rockin'
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