All Of The Above

I will write until I’m hollowed out, until the well is empty and I can fill it up with…


For the first time in my adult life I am a blank page. And I don’t resent it. So who am I?

Tragic hero?

Sly anti-hero?

Keen observer?

Bumbling drunk?

Token mulatto?

Starving artist?

Born villain?

Lovesick youth?

Surprisingly boring dude?

Damsel in distress?

Star-crossed asshole?

Fickle, deviant, pariah?

All of the above. My own private stigmata. The gift that keeps on bleeding. The rock that won’t stop. Blah, blah, blah.

Fill in the blanks


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