Sleep

*Sliding his feet across the linoleum floor -in pajamas and slippers; Antwan props his limp limbs in front of the screen.

-Sips Coffee.

Dear World

Please Kill Me,

(Yawns) Good morning you Writers of misfortune. How’s the pen, pad, etc, and so forth? (No clue why I always ask that. I’d be genuinely freaked out if the screen just answered “too much porn” – *buys quieter laptop) anyway.

If you can’t tell by my even more than usual scattered brain, I’m pretty sleep deprived. My book (Becoming Utopia) is out next month on Kindle, (give or take depending on circumstances I suppose) :

I’ve been working round the clock on my short story collection (Ergo the posts here). And of course my night job (which for the life of me, I don’t know why I even still have.) So yea, I’m pretty burnt out. Not like Jesse Owens Olympian burnt out, more like Charlie Sheen after a coke binge burnt out ( you know, the tiger blood days), minus the coke (my nose is too big, it wouldn’t end well).

So I’m here. Wondering if this is a part of it all. Unsure if the crash is coming, or if this is somehow a receipt for my soon to be delivered goodwill and tenacity.

It’s probably neither, not to be cynical or anything, but this may just be the right time to start trimming the fatty edges of my life, to allow for basic necessary self service (not that kind, well maybe that too) “Argh, this be a cold mating season” (probably because I’m wandering around saying shit like that. No one believes in urban pirates.)

So my message today is short yet sweet, the next few may be as well, as I circle the drain on putting the finishing touches on the novel.

Until then FEAR NOT! I’ve got some help. How’d you guys like my sister’s pictures? Dope right. ( if you didn’t see them feel free to go check em out, she has her own section under the main menu.) You can follow her on all those groovy sites.

Alright thunder-birds that’s it for now.

Warm milk? *throws uppercut* “Bitch freeze that cow!

 

Antwan Crump.

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