I Am Not Your Hero (Blog-Post)

Dear World

Please Kill Me,

“I am not your hero”…The phrase lends itself to a certain primitive narcissism that I’m not entirely on board with. Despite that, I’m not really sure of another way to describe this feeling that I’m having.

As of late, as some of you know (and other’s have thoroughly ignored whilst they skip through sentences waiting for the #PoopJoke), I have been at this thing for a while now. Don’t get me wrong, I love what I do, but I’d be lying if I didn’t admit that it comes at a price.

My method of payment most likely differs from yours, and yours may differ from the next guy/girl(/goblin/socialite/conservative/anal probe, etc).  However, in the barter system that is a creative’s existence within the confines of structured society, I do believe that the receipts are relatively similar (#Don’tTip #Life’sABadWaiter).

When we choose the creative route–kicking and screaming (as our functional selves go down in bitter flame)–we are essentially trying to “one-up” the foundations on which we have all come to exist. (#IKnowRight?)

There were lives that we could have lived, we rebelled, those spots are filled with a similar drone that follows. It sounds a bit callous, but it’s the reality of the situation. There’s no need to sugar coat that.

While those spots we’ve rebuked are occupied, we “creatives” are left with a choice. Now, obviously, we can’t always go back (unless mommy and daddy somehow manage to reserve your seat on the mediocrity train for you), so there is no regression from that initial point of rebellion. The question then becomes “what-now”?

And, the answer is simple: Whatever you want.

At that point, WE’VE DONE IT! We’ve escaped the evil (donkey-smelling) lair of monotony and cast ourselves out into the seas of will and passionate fortitude. We become the Sacajawea of our lives. We pillage and plunder forward–breaking new ground and embracing our utmost creative selves.

BUT…Sooner or later, the reality sets in.

Sure, we hated the 9-5, but we liked that one girl(/guy/goblin/anthropomorphic bottle of moonshine) who brought us coffee that one time. We hated the commute, but we like to drive. We hate our checks, but consistency is always awesome (if for no other reason than its subtle parentage and innate ability to illicit anticipation).

When we choose that life. MY (and I’m assuming your) former life, we die inside but are given an artificial sense of satisfaction. Artifical though it may be, it’s something that feels real.

When we take the path least traveled (i.e. furiously cheetah-chasing our creative goals with the fury of million exploding suns) we get what comes of it (good and bad). We also lose who we were and are distilled into a more concentrated version of ourselves.

Few are nurtured to be creatives and even fewer have any luck at it (apparently), so there isn’t much to go on other than our beating hearts and withered spirits which tirelessly fight to be admitted into something greater than ourselves.

My point is that, we lose things when we choose this life. Those who can’t get over that, tend to attempt a return or merge of some kind. The truth is though, once we’ve had a taste of what we can do and the impact that we could have, that 9-5 is never enough.

You’ll slap the coffee out of that girl’s/guy’s(/knob-gobbling’ scallywag’s) hand, crash that car into a light post, and walk naked into the sunrise while leaving a bread-crumb like trail of fecal matter leading to the bank where you’ve once deposited your checks (#Recall #ObligatoryPoopJoke #Sorry #NotReally).

It’s just NOT ENOUGH once you’ve tasted the bittersweet juices of creative bliss. We gain the perspective of Da Vinci, Michaelangelo, Socrates (Flava Flav?), etc.

We sacrifice the artificial feeling of complacency in the mundane and trade it for the responsibility of all creatives–to say (paint, write, sing, direct, mime, interpretive dance,) SOMETHING worth a witness. We become greater by losing something in us–much like the removal of a tumor(/poltergeist/Spice Girls song).

Yes, the “old you dies, but the new you couldn’t give a rat’s ass and two doubloons about that. The new you requires sustenance in inspiration and a foundation on which to continue pressing forward until satisfied.

But some days, the old you returns to remind the creative side of what it’s lost. On days like that (this one that I’m currently having) there’s only one real answer to that little subconscious nuisance: “SHUT THE HELL UP…I’M BUSY!”

From there (hopefully), the drum beats and progress is continued (at whatever pace you’ve set yourself at).

This can happen once a week, month, year, decade, etc. It always seems like a good idea to regress, but TRUST ME, it’s not… It’s just another “Grass is greener/Allegory of the Cave”-type bombardment of your deeply instilled social narrative.


The feeling is human, so push through and keep sight of what it is that you seek to accomplish. Even the greats (not saying that I am one) go through it. It’s a test. Nothing more. Nothing less.

So, no. I am not your hero (and also not sure if that sentence is relevant anymore, but I’m venting so #ScrewYou). I’m just a guy on a mission, yelling the “no-no” thoughts out of my head and hoping that it all continues to work out as I wade through the trenches of “paying my dues”.

I’m just a man. Just a writer. Just a creative trying to do some good.

It’s good to miss things but it’s bad to languish in them. Feel your feelings and get back to work. Unlike that 9-5, no one else can do this but YOU.

Remember that before you recoil…


Onward and Upward,

-Antwan Crump.

Follow me on Twitter, won’t you?: @I_AM_ANTWAN

Welcome to the world of the macabre. In this long-awaited anthology, we delve into the dark nuances of the human spirit. From the apocalypse to murder and brutal realities we remorselessly explore them all, in search of the truths that evil holds. Can you face the darkest corners of your psyche or will you cower back to your fairytales and superhero mythologies? When you tire of the lies—we’ll be waiting for you here…in the dark.

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