Mass murderers want to make a statement and any writer with any depth wants to do the same. I’ve contemplated becoming a mass murderer, but so far I’ve settled for the more difficult path of becoming a writer. The US Navy trained me as a nuke, but trust me I don’t need to dabble with the witchery of radiation to do serious damage. Killing people is easy, not killing people is much harder. Getting away with it isn’t easy either, but someone who has reached that point, probably no longer care.
I didn’t want to become a writer because I’m too reclusive to strive for fame. The crazy fans who drowned out the Beatles should discourage any sane non-narcissistic person from striving for fame, and at one time I was both sane and non-narcissistic. My sanity walks the tightrope, these days. It’s hard to score my narcissism levels because I’m certain I know what I don’t know, but can be stubborn about what I’m reasonably certain about.
I’m in a deep depression stage, at present, so my energy level prevents me from doing too much damage to the keyboard or Holiday zombies. White elitists like the Drexel professor wishing for White genocide and the VA Administration should stop driving me crazy and support my unwanted writing career because it’s the only thing holding the pieces of me together. There’s only a couple of my doctors that shouldn’t be harassed by reporters If I ever reach my breaking point. Doctors are bad—very, very bad.
The title of my blog was inspired by Fyodor Dostoevsky’s, Notes from Underground. I’m not sure that it’s good that this insane narrator seems like such a kindred spirit, but I’m not sure whether I have a choice.Writing this post may mean the depression is lifting, but I sure don’t have the energy to edit. Posts written while in fits of rage or depression will often suffer errors in wisdom, clarity or grammatical care. I even type the title wrong the first time by putting ‘of’ instead of ‘or’.