Here’s the secret that you don’t want to tell yourself anon and why tumblr, and the modern internet-gasm world, might become shit. You’re a fucking coward. You don’t say your name. You hide behind a veil. You want my picture, my address, my phone number, my social security #? Come find me. I won’t put my phone number up because you’re obviously a worthless troll and I’m being trolled and I don’t give a fuck because this has been on my mind.
Will Holland3777 Peachtree Hills Rd NE Unit DAtlanta, GA 30319Here’s another secret for all you anons and non-anons: stop writing about your fucking day, your fucking trip to the store, what you’re eating, this is not facebook, this is not twitter, this should be something better than the non-stop drivel of self-promoting whoredom which we all are and become but Jesus Christ do it in front of your friends who will mock you and you might feel something at least. These plastic keyboards and pixels don’t mean shit. It’s the feeling behind them, your personal - their personal meaning, so fuck you. Don’t whine about your life. Someone wiser than me, I thinking a certain Buddha or a Dalai Lama, would say that everyone’s experience is different, everyone’s pain is pain and one cannot compare the pain of say, teenage heartbreak, to, say, being raped consistently at 9. And I agree, but I’m not that enlightened yet. I am not to judge, but here’s to judging. I’ve worked with traumatized individuals in a mental health setting for two years now, everyday, hearing their stories, things people have never told anyone. And it wasn’t on the fucking internet. Not my daddy didn’t love me, but, my daddy got arrested and my brother raped me and then my I tried to kill myself repeatedly and did one time but they brought me back. And this is face to face, you know, real life? Not behind some anonymous fuck shit even it say’s Anonymous or infinitesplinters. So stop acting like you’re so fucking important. Cherish your life. Be glad you didn’t see your mom beaten so badly one side of her head caved in and one day she couldn’t stand it so she took her shotgun and blasted him in his face in front of her children. Be glad the cigarette burns on your arm are self inflicted, not done by your dad at 15 because of this, that, or the other. Enjoy the beauty because there is a lot of darkness out there and you contrive to force it upon others. And I know wildflowerveins doesn’t give a shit, this is for me, and I’m trying to give you some real life advice shithead. What you do on the internet echoes in your “real” life, whatever that might be. So. Revel is the company of people trying to grow, flawed, like you. Be happy you weren’t raped, urinated on, and made to press your face to the mattress the piss was stained every time thereafter. Fucking Bourgeois shit makes me want to own a gun, I swear. Cocked, loaded, safety off last my last client said. Appreciate each day. Appreciate you weren’t raised in crime infested neighborhoods and got hooked on crack at 11. Raise your fucking game man. Get drunk, have fun, this thing is short. I hope you don’t get run over by a bus tomorrow, because you could and I’ve seen the survivors at my hospital, I hope you don’t because I hope you learn and become a better person. That’s all we have: hope. And the more we get sucked into this instant gratification, meme-infested, more-prettier-most-now-better-one-up-status-update-dashboard-clicking-like-like-coz-if-i-like-they-like-me bullshit we drift further and further away from ourselves. Stop posting your kitschy little fuckshit. Post art. Go on 4chan for that shit or get the fuck out and go on facebook and sit on it and rotate. But yeah, call out bloggers you think are dope. Give props. Make suggestions, constructive criticism, you know that shit? Unless you’re Joyce, Faulkner, Hemingway, Beckett, Proust, Nabakov, Murakami, cummings, Frost, Eliot, Pound, WC Williams, Plath, Emerson, Stein, Morrison, Hesse, Nietzsche, Hawthorne, Marquez, Borges, Fitzgerald, Thoreau, Pessoa, Rilke, Ellison, Whitman, Burroughs, Gide, Vargas Llosa, Tolstoy, Fuentes, Gibran, Dostoyevsky, or some other mother fucker (I could go on for goddamn forever, but you aren’t on that list) with some chops and the work to prove it then:::Shut the fuck up and stop projecting your insecurities. Because no one cares. It’s the fucking internet. Fuck.