A bit heavy
My writing can be melancholic.
Perhaps I should apologise or dial down the nihilism but I don't think so.
In fact, I've not gone far enough in pointing out the error(s) of my generations' ways, particularly given the state of the world.
Then again, absent action, I don't see much changing. If anything, life is going to get a lot worse.
And truthfully, I'm not sure the world needs another dilettante soothsayer to add to the opinion fest. My time surely would be better spent on the front line — whatever that actually means in these CV19 days and very long nights.
But (and please don't ask me why), I feel constantly and irrevocably drawn to show up day after day to write and share a few words that are rising to the surface of my existential angst. Where they land, how they're received and where they'll end up, God only knows but whilst there's fire in the belly, and I'm sorry if it's all a bit bleak, I have no choice but to sit down and let the words flow.
There's no try in the sense that I'm selling anything or trying to be something that I'm not. Sure, the themes are eclectic and at times all over the place but that's life, right:
disordered but replete with portent — or at least I'd like to think so.
Thank you for your forbearance.
If you're able to support my work then I've put up a 'support' page on my main website. Thank you in advance; even a small amount helps me continue to write these blogs and maintain my site.