I tend to spend my free time filling giant, gaping voids with thick dicks, magic tricks and masochism. And I know what you’re thinking, but…

I’ve been into writing and words since I learned how to piss on a toilet. I also have been into drawing since I got my first art kit shortly after I had all my fine motor skills down pat (age 6). I was literally “born to be an artist”. A lovely mix of mental disturbance and genetics has lead me to believe the cliched statement I just made above is true.

I tend to go on tangents, so let me get back to my first point. Filling voids. We all have some part of ourselves that isn’t quite as complete as we would like it to be. This can cause us to feel like we’re missing something, as if we have a void within ourselves. I tend to fill such voids with vices (drugs, sex, rock n roll, trap rap, you know, the regular, degular). What I SHOULD be filling it with is painstaking hours spent on my ‘craft’ (whatever that is) plus ideas and actions that could lead me to become a fucking famous, slutty, writer/poet/critic/actress/filmmaker. That’s fucking ambitious coming from a nobody on the internet, right? ….but that’s the POINT. Imagine how much time I would need to spend on just attempting to reach one of those goals. The process would be difficult as fuck but it would be the most enriching thing I could do because I know for a fact if I reach at least one of those those goals, at least one of my voids will be more than half way filled. And that’s a start. I really ain’t got shit else to do anyways.