I can no longer write about what I want to here. What I need to write! Writing about what drives me, about the fucked up aspects of my life's experience or about what is blessed and whole in my life...I need to be able write in honesty. To bare my soul; to wear my heart upon my sleeve. As crappy as it may be. As alienating as it is. I know that I have become the wet blanket. Who wants to come by here?
"You're bummin us out, Dad."
But as long as I have snoopers that I do not trust, those that have shown their black and judgmental hearts for what they are, I am now self censored.
And it sucks.
And it hurts.
But that is the price you pay for writing on a blog.
So maybe I will continue to write - until I burst - or until I find peace - or until I fuck you up!
I'm pissed and resentful.
You won't like me when I'm angry.
What? You think that line was original to Stan Lee and Bruce Banner?