Christ, I hate being cursed with Intermittent Explosive Disorder. For those of you who don't know what that is, look here: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Intermittent_Explosive_Disorder
This is just one of my disorders. I also have ADHD and Bi-Polar Axis 2. What this means to the layman is that I am, on the inside, a monster. And do me a favor. Please save your pity. People in wheelchairs hate that shit, so do I. I don't want anyone to feel sorry for me, I'm simply stating a fact. My brain has no filter for bullshit. If I see something that angers me I want to attack it. I want to grind it into paste. I've tried weights, yoga, aikido, tae kwon do (or tae kwan don't, for all you martial arts afficianados out there), kenpo, and brazilian ju-jitsu over the years, mastering a decent portion of them. In sum, yeah. I'll fuck someone up. And I'm not an ITG (Internet Tough Guy for those of you who don't know) or a goddamn Troll (I think I've actually belabored the point on my hatred for those fat cunts hiding in their basements spouting lies that morons without the tenacity to do a little research fall for). Nope, I'm real. Highly medicated and a patient at Ecker Center here in Elgin, IL.
Zoloft. Sometimes it works.
Ritalin. Can't say enough good things about it.
Klonopin: Even better--peace found in a pill.
I still lift weights and do my katas. I still have to watch out when someone starts talking that shit in society. I almost fucked my life once because of this. Aggravated Assault is no bullshit felony. Lucky for me, the shithead who got his knees broken and his skull cracked and his fucking hand ground into paste lied to the cops, saying he got jumped by four black guys. Isn't that just like a cunt. Blame it on the ethnic. I, on the oher hand, told the truth. Then I booked for Tennessee. Facing serious time in Menard did not have me excited, not in a good way. When I came back enough time had passed for the charge to be dropped to Misdemeanor Disorderly Conduct.
OK, all that aside, I'm still going to break my own Commandment and self-publish my memoir, ROCKFORD BASTARD. Why? Because I don't want anyone to have to pay for it. I already paid for it, and I continue to pay for it every single day of my life. While others are out there pasting on the plastic used car salesman face and playing phony Mr./Ms. Come-Hither, I'm just not capable. Kurt Cobain once said that if he weren't playing music he would not be doing anything else. That's me. If I weren't writing I would not be doing anything else. This is my grasp at salvation. We'll see how it works.
Now, in the immortal words of Clint Eastwood (before he started talking to chairs) "If you want a guarantee, buy a toaster." I can't guarantee my success, I can only strive for it and work my ass off. Hard work beats talent when talent doesn't work hard, and goddammit I work my ass off. In these days of self-publishing, poor self-editing, and the like, I may have a shot. So I'm going to give it a try here first with ROCKFORD BASTARD. My other stories, if I self-publish them, will appear in another blog on this very same page called TWELVE REJECTIONS. I figure if someone doesn't want to buy a tale after twelve tries, I may as well shoot it out there for free.
POLARITY will not suffer. I'm almost done polishing the lovely, wicked, drug-fueled crime novel.
Whenever I read a blog from an acclaimed author, it seems sweet. Once again, Brian Keene comes to mind. My guess, pretentious though it may be, is that he's a nice guy and never mind all those evil Satanists and tentacles. I try, I really try, but as Nick Cave said in his song "Thirsty Dog", "I'm sorry that I exist and when I look into your eyes, I can see you're sorry too."
OK. This really is enough out of me. Thanks for the ears. Without them I'd be dead, and that's no sales pitch.
No comments:
Post a Comment