Dear World

Please Kill Me,

Hello again – my sensually stagnant scribes- how goes the week? (Should my (other) deepest wishes have been granted-) I hope that your bellies are full and your field is ripe with crop. (I’m pretty sure that farmers don’t read this). In any case, it’s good to have to you “Back in the Thunderdome” -starring-  Uncle “Needs a refill”. With that said, let’s get to it.

(Disclaimer: This One is for The Artists)

*lights cigarette*

(#StruggleThought)

So, I’ve been doing a fair bit of “ball-busting” lately, (I would apologize, but I really don’t want to) – you should know, however, that it’s not without reason. (A little bit about myself) – I consider {me} – to be a theorist. No, not in the sense of “embracing reality” (that’s for suckers)- more so, in the sense that -what I am doing is the correct thing. Too many people folly in the interpretive negotiation.

To be a writer -not unlike any other mental niche- is to embrace the idea of having the world (or at the very least- the ideas and compromises that define them)- at your very fingertips.

We toil away, grasping at the impossible, in the hopes of making a semblance of difference. It’s an honorable feat to strive toward -however- admittedly underappreciated. (The same way that Kobe became irrelevant once Lebron stepped onto the court). The fact should be known that immortality isn’t the only motivation (although, it’s likely a large chunk of it).

To the writers of my readership, may I offer, an idea. The idea that you’re ahead of your time, as well as behind it. (Don’t back away just yet kids, I’m learnin’ ya something). The idea is to spread the idea.

In its’ origination, creativity was little more than a farce. Humanity began with prospective potential (ape or magic baby, but regardless) – the potential to spread intelligence and ideologies. Though we may have failed a few times, (*cough* “Hitler” *cough*), we’ve pretty much been on that path -since we learned to create fire.

That idea is this – “what if we do more?”. Mankind has a need to push the limits that life initially places upon us – with that- we’ve delved into pockets after, exponentially increasing pockets of self and infinite discovery – writer’s are no different.

We write, not only to find the truth of the universe, but also the truth that lays deep within every individual walking around with a pair of headphones in their head (somehow, concurrently more connected, and less connected) – we write to understand them.

Though the theory of “why” may loom over our heads (as the importance of “why not” wanes) – perhaps we should question what we could provide, as opposed to what they tell us we should.

Creativity isn’t singular, its’ success is even more duplicitous, and its’ understanding – infinitely re-interpreted. None of that is our problem. (You’re welcome, for relieving you of that confusion).

Our job is to observe, create, and report. No questions, no analysis – we just write OUR truth.

Never forget, that what we do, is something special.

Alright gang, those where my ambiguous words (to make up for my missed post yesterday). If it touched you (I hope that you’re of age) – feel free to let me know below. And, if it was a little too deep – here’s a half hour of me being silly. Enjoy.

Merry Christmas (Happy Holidays?), and I’ll see you all on Monday (for some words with letters).

*puts on Santa costume*

*steals reindeer*

Ho, Ho, Ho,

-Antwan Crump.