Dear Daniel Keem

Hello, I am drunk. I don’t know why this makes a lick of sense, but bear with me, it gets better. In fact, let’s drop all the pretense of what you think this blog is going to be about and put it as plainly as possible: A stream of thought, wandering, wad of brain shit, that might as well be used for something useful, like a vlog script, which it will be. the very fact I’m wasting thirty seconds messing around with my fan because  it fell on the floor, and then continuing on with this blog, is a testament to whatever the hell I was originally writing about. I don’t know, fluff and filler maybe? It’s really hard to tell with these things.

Hey folks, welcome to a drunk blog, where it’s not as dumbass as my other drunk blogs, but at the same time, and off and running thing where I post something every once in a while to feed the starving baby known only as this blog. We all that I’m not a big hit getter, it’s just a fact, if I do get known, it’s only through injury, being an idiot, or trying to impress a trio of people that might never give me the time of day.

In fact, I’m more interesting in venting my thoughts then anything else, and if my progress on anything has been a sight for sore eyes, well, I’ve got news for you, the ramp up about talking about actual topics is going to take a while. I titled this Dear Daniel Keem, but at the same time I stopped trying to talk to him a while back, but I’m already too invested in the writing of this sentence to change the title header. I think I have a career in not doing anything great, but then again, if you truly think about it, my progress is a slow earner, it pays off in the long run, and if you keep ati t, you eventually get somewhere in life.

I have nothing to say to Daniel at this time, I’m just trying to t get through the nerves of writing a blog in the firstp lace. It’s been such a long time since I’ve written a log, either through my ability to annoy the shit out of people, or just plain lack of tagging, it’s pretty interesting to watch the stats pile up on any given day. Hell, I get excited when just one person views my blog, even for one minute, that’s all I seem to be good for. One minute of viewing, or reading, before people just get bored and move on to someone more entertaining. In actuality, I don’t really give a crap about that kind of thing. It might be because of whatever is wrong with me, or my level of self confidence, or anything like that, I just am really lonely. yup, fuck it, we’re already at the point of no return, let’s continue on with htis bastard of a blog post already.

In fact, I don’t know why I flail around the internet thinking I’m some hot shit when really, it’s more or less hit or miss. with writing, no one really reads anything, they just buy a copy, read a few pages, and then say, “Hey, great job! couldn’t finish it!” And I’m thinking, well, shit, that does indeed hurt. Because people are selfish creatures. I’m not going to stop writing because I’m a hopeless idiot stuck in a self hating loop of degrading drunken stupors doing hand stands on rickety chairs and hoping for dear god something falls through.

More beer.

I avoid real talks, because I’m ignorant of the ways of the world, and if you’ve read anything of mine in the past and haven’t gone into a coma from the first few sentences, congratulations, you brave stupid bastard, your world is far more sadder than it should ever be. I’m going to keep writing this out because I’m eventually going to get to the real talk, and that will be the real shit, not this pandering shit that seems to pile out of my mouth for no real reason. In fact I don’t think I’m a real person, just some figment of everyone else’s imagination, driven to physical interaction with the outside world because of whatever the fuck reason I need to be. A sad mopey bastard angry at himself over shit that no longer matters and simply scraping away at his own sanity until something comes around and shoots him dead.

That’s what I honestly think about myself. My life has not panned out the way I want. I’m angry, depressed, for miles away from a set of train tracks should the need arise when I no doubt become a homeless vagrant. Because I will not live as a fucking homeless person. I don’t even give two shits if that’s actually what happens, killing myself the first chance I get should that ever happen.

And yeah, shit just got real, maybe I should stop? Nah, what’d be the fucking point? Everything I try to do ends up as a fucking failure to produce any income, I don’t know how to get a job, I’m avoiding relationships because no one wants my mother as their mother in law, or maybe I’m just a horrible boyfriend?  I did not think we were at that stage already, god damned, this IPA works fast….I’m bored.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

2 thoughts on “Dear Daniel Keem

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