While bastards can be gentlemen and raconteurs can be honest and phonies can wax honest the writer gets to observe and, through such observation, be everything. A chameleon of sorts. The best of us hit society like phantom bricks; hard yet unseen, in your face but unknown, at least to you. We know who we are at the end of the day. Some of us are bottom feeders, sucking on the dregs of society for an idea. Others of us are top-shelf critic pleasers, writing about what Stephen King called "yuppies and faggots". And yet others of us are ruthless, writing who we are and not giving one penny's worth of a damn whether anyone likes it or not. Square people fit into categories--they're the clique-y folks from high school, shutting out the uninvited with their secret-squirrel whisperings seeming so important. They are, effectively, Heathers. And they're boring. They are the critic-pleasers.
I'll take a bottom-feeding bastard over a fake smile any day. I'll take a con-man to the side and pick his brain before I will a tech manager. I think now and have always thought that climbing the corporate ladder is for suckers. It is for folks who don't know how to do anything except smile and kiss ass. I think that this is what Bret Easton Ellis tried to convey with AMERICAN PSYCHO. A deep thinker forced into the banality of CEO yuppie life becomes a serial killer only to find that he's not a serial killer at all. That's just genius. And it shows the sick futility of the plastic-faced fuckers that follow all the rules. But this isn't supposed to be a book review. I'm not sure what it is. It's a fucking blog.
I always sided with the hated kids. The outsiders. Not because I had to, I wanted to. I started out maybe having to but then I learned that slamming someone's head into a locker gains you a certain amount of notoriety and believe it or not also gets you laid. And women--don't deny it--when you were young, even if behind the prying eyes of your peers, you fucked at least one ruthless bastard. And I don't mean the bully-jock football hero, I mean the guy who kicked that guy's ass. I know you did because a good amount of you are notches on my belt since I was that guy who kicked the jock's ass. Oh, and for all you poor losers out there--grow some balls and whip some ass and trust me, virginity will be a thing of the past. Make some blood flow. It's a carnal thing. It's also why I sided with that hated kids. The hatred came from those who did not understand why some people have IQ's above their shoe size. Such intelligence makes young people withdraw until college, I think...I don't know. I never had the luxury of finding out. Regardless, I took up for the hated kids.
Where am I fucking going with this? I don't know. But then again, Vikings rarely knew where they were going until they got there and began to pillage. Writing is my way of satisfying the need to pillage...with writing I can rend asunder anything I please, the same way my Highlander ancestors did.
Wait, what? You didn't know Scottish people were Vikings? You didn't see I am from Scottish descent? Dude...my last name is Tannahill. That's like the Scottish "Johnson." For fuck's sake, I'm named after the second most famous Scottish poet of all time. Not to mention the Weavers....
It is late, and I finished the first draft of my second novel tonight. Now I'm bored. Time to go.
Oh, what category do I fit into, of the few I listed?
If you can't figure that out on your own, you weren't paying attention.
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