I pretend I'm a writer when I'm not pretending I'm a rockstar. Both of these things may or may not take place in front of the bathroom mirror.
You probably have no idea what my posts are about, and that's the way I like it. True art fails to yield to analysis.
Self-indulgent biography, attempt at humor, pseudo-intellectual Nietzsche quote, etc. etc. etc.
Tracking the Tempest: The Audience Pleas Continuation
I call her the angel that’s bound to the earth, she joined my existence and graced it with worth. The fortune that I’ve been presented with is unbelievable.
Her name is the sweetest thing I’ve ever said, and the things that she calls me go straight to my head. I’ve surfaced from sinking, a task that I thought unachievable.
She’s the purpose in life I’ve been looking for, and my pilot for starting anew. My guardian madame, the Eve to my Adam, a dream I dismissed that I find coming true.
I’ve been running for miles and searching through files to track down my equal and finish the sequel to all of the shortcomings, roadblocks and ghosts of my past.
I looked in all corners, I damned near went crazy. The fact that I found you won’t cease to amaze me. We’re wonderful, perfect and beautiful. Please let it last.
