Time to dip into the platitudes again my friends. My own inexorable foe is indeed my best quality, my drinking. Without it I would not be nearly as cliché; and lets face it, walking clichés are what makes the world interesting.

I would love to say I took the road less traveled, but I didn't... And fuck do I regret it. I feel like I skipped the first four levels of Maslows pyramid and now I have to work my way down in the world.

Go

Whittling down the existence of being a writer I have found myself at a decision which will shift my life forever. Live out the melancholy and cliché existence of the addicted and addicting man. Drowning in self-loathing and burdened with an ego so large that Atlas would have a hard day at work holding it up. Or fall into the listless existence that it is to be living in the middle. A plethora of meaning and living, or a listless existence filled with happiness.