Let’s be completely honest.

The only reason this blog exists is the innate human ability to wind ourselves up into a self-loving stupor, and as such find our thoughts incredibly meaningful. We think we impress everyone else with it, and we probably do if they were as shallow as you consider them to be now that you’ve impressed them, and feel incredibly special in being able to tap into this inquisitive, conflicting part of ourselves, reaching higher levels of “thought”. That’s complete bullshit.

We write because we hurt, because we feel, and as a result we write about everything that brings us passion, be it anger, fear, sadness or even desperation. We write about what bothers us most, and what peaks our interest at the time.

It is with an exceptionally high probability of circumstance that this first post has now been written amidst a particularly stronger case of melancholy than usual, hold the crocodile tears, self-pity fuels most of my words. And I’ve realised I now sound like Tom Robbins’ writing voice on acid having sex with the voice of that guy from School of Life, in my head at least.

This blog is whats in my head. And it will have no predisposed structure, no theme, no routine likeness in any form. Though, we all realise at some point that most of what we write about are the same, and we then acknowledge that the same things bother us, and finally get off of our lazy asses and break our solitude to engage and change what that is. Or some of us remain stuck in it, and thus populate the “Facebook status writers and trolls” species living our mundane 9-5 days and rendering our opinions valid enough to be considered action, when they cause no effect at all.  (It’ll most probably happen to me.)

But what I’m essentially trying to convey, is the vulnerability with which these posts involve. Writing, to me is analysing a piece of my mind, and usually incorporates something I’ve been worrying about, sad about, angry about, and it reforms it into something tangible, something I can look at and either address, or archive away. These blog posts will have passion behind them, and I may sound like a pretentious dick sometimes in some of them (most), I truly just am writing because I care, and I’m choosing to have my thoughts be vulnerable. Perhaps that may fix a part of us that we cannot seem to get to, a part we repeatedly try to convince ourselves we are secure of, a part of ourselves we try to engage and fix and love and comfort, but never are able to do so. Maybe it will, maybe it won’t, but fuck it, I’m writing anyway.


4 thoughts on “First.

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