Don’t ask me why I’m still here physically and creatively, I promised myself to stop because no one wants my shit and definitely no one wants to read an account of my shit. I keep breathing though and I keep surviving,

I don’t want to but it seems necessary, and to keep going I need to keep writing and like a bad joke that seemed good at that moment in time but loses all dignity when you have to explain the reason you made the joke. Somebody has read something of mine , thank you, I don’t know if they read it because it needed to be read, like you wash the plates because no one else well and they are not going away any time soon unless you throw them out the window hitting a cyclist as he does his embarrassing deliveries. Recycling and cycling combined.
I hate everything about me and changing me is no longer an option now I’m over 50 a new suit will not change my attitude towards life. To get somewhere you have to be fascist who goes to the gym everyday and have a flat full of mirrors and Mussolini busts . Only then will ladies admire you and pout their overinflated lips at you. Everyone has advice to give but totally fucking clueless in their grey existence. Get a dog ,another trophy and then abandon Rover in the woods when the first vet bill comes along like you abandoned your lady when she hit thirty and she wanted some offspring.
Music keeps me going but new music is no longer made with balls it’s made to a hashtag existence, everybody say yeah , everybody say yo just change the words to replicate which decade you are in. We can’t have fun with music anymore because that’s offensive, swearing is allowed because that’s cool though but writing about humanitarian subjects is not cool because you can’t shake your ass in the crumbling tower blocks of Syria.
Everything I see coming into view is so fake and disposable, everything written for a trend that lasts less than a wet fart. The guitar is being abused and the drums are getting dusty
I’ve self published around 30 ebooks and strangely I’ve not started deleting them , I cancelled my YouTube videos because they were so bad it made the backstreet boys look professional. It’s a dilemma I can’t work out. It’s all related I’m so angry with everything and myself, just posting and advertising myself has become so painful.
Today I wrote a poem today I wrote this , it’s not turning over a page and starting over again, it’s just me coming up for air.