Bios
Writing a novel at age eighteen did little to affirm the correctness of the authorship pursuit. Rejected by many publishers, the manuscript sat in a box collecting dust but eventually transcribed to the computer in a vague hope of one day becoming published. With no shelf adorned with published books or literary awards, I possess only a claim to be a writer and an enormous term paper library written across more than a decade. These papers are disturbing, spurring a strong desire to divorce them as they represent the worst of writing: fast, commercial, and lacking substantive value. Some people enjoy the papers, but if they knew my uncaring method of writing academic essays, they might also feel disturbed when realizing the ease of bullshitting one’s way through life. But these papers are married to me like a porn star to her past with no escaping prior academic masturbation for money.
A decade of writing term papers and web content passed Netflixing, listening to Live365, then Pandora, and on to Spotify. Listening to music provided a relaxing backdrop to the dull, meaningless writing, and playlists became a fascination as well as Kesha. During the many long days of paper writing, imaginative journeys with Kesha transpired in exotic lands and mythical places. Perhaps her ability to yodel first captured me; I am unsure, but essay writing passed in a joyful blur of delivery-food and vodka while listening to “Blow” and other songs. Don’t tell her, but I believe we will one day marry and fulfill some cosmic purpose.
Along with academic writing, I built websites and wrote web content of the most mundane nature, less the slightly more intriguing sex toy content. There is no Pulitzer for sex toy product descriptions which causes much aggravation, having ordained myself The William Faulkner of Sex Toys. How many ways can you describe a dildo, its function, and meaningfulness?
Abandoning the traditional publishing path long ago resulted from an intense dislike of publishers, who are literature’s pimps, whoring authors on a Saturday night dollar sale. The irony of pimping myself to anyone needing hack-writing does not escape notice, but self-pimping is far more honorable than trafficking unsuspecting writers.
I also don’t care much for writers, especially those who prostitute themselves with genre fiction: the ho-slap to the face of literature. This dislike for genre writers may sound paradoxical, having sold thousands of derivative papers of no academic or social value, but I feel justified in this hatred, accepting it as an irreparable character flaw.
Today, authorship is a novel and article writing journey, streaming with Kesha nowhere or perhaps to some cosmic purpose — I hope the latter, but who the fuck knows?
If you never considered equality’s importance and feel a grind of annoyance when people say, “Black Lives Matter” or watching Asians protest on TV, then please proceed no further. A sudden sense of rational thought might induce hysteria when realizing your self-righteous claim “all lives matter” is based on a ridiculous assumption of all the Blacks and Asians banding together to offend you. Worse yet, death could occur in the sudden reversal of mindless logic...
Read MoreAuthor Note: Surrender to the trope of the sincere, moving author bio produced this reader-introduction wreck. Asked by an editor to write a bio incited a struggle to fit the bio to the writer motif of the publication, resulting in a catastrophe of mediocrity. The stench of derivative overwhelmed me, causing the bio’s removal and exit from the publication. The call of honesty prohibited burying the bio in a folder to pretend the sin never...
Read MoreLoathing writers overshadows many mundane writing tasks such as this bio. Much effort exerted trying to write an author bio, feeling a professional obligation to perform this chore. A chore this is because writing an honest, fact-filled bio violates the author-reader relationship, epitomizing terrible writing as it tries to qualify and authenticate me to satisfy you, demeaning us. For you are too stupid to discern me from my writing, and I am too stupid to...
Read MoreExperience Vinnie LXIX classically trained for pornographic acting at the Conservatory Of Copulation Knowledge, giving rise (no pun intended) to a skilled player (again, no pun intended) on par with Shakespearean counterparts. A method actor of impeccable style, Vinnie won awards in gay-for-pay and straight-for-rate and all variations of cinematography between. After an illustrious career spanning a year of sexual art, Vinnie’s meteoric rise in porn ended tragically at the pinnacle of his career during...
Read MoreBackground Writing a novel at age eighteen did little to affirm the correctness of the authorship pursuit. Rejected by many publishers, the manuscript sat in a box collecting dust but eventually transcribed to the computer in a vague hope of one day becoming published. With no shelf adorned with published books or literary awards, I possess only a claim to be a writer and an enormous term paper library written across more than a decade....
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