This Is NOT An Autobiography of the E

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One of the things I have to do to properly hone my art is use less ‘F’ words. Sure, it may be emotive, it may actually express the sentiment at the time, and fucking-ay it feels great — but there are larger issues at stake. Similarly I have to decrease my use of the word ‘nigga’, albeit its declaration from my being only ever having occurred as a way to convey camaraderie. I have to stop it ‘cos there’s a whole loada niggas running everywhere out there, taking the name in vain and destroying shit I never believed possible. Black niggas, white niggas, sand-fuckin’ niggas and even greenhouse goddamned niggas.

I have to stop calling ladies ‘cunts’, or ‘ladies’, for that matter. Even if her wit is so sharp as to, well, resemble a cunt, I cannot use that word.

I cannot, as best man at a wedding, decapitate the groom and fuck (sorry — engage in sexual relations with) the wife, even though all these actions are backed up by the best intentions.

I cannot cut a hole in Antarctica and pretend to fish for mice. It is unrealistic, unproductive, and overall, inefficient. The Republicons have a word for this … ‘biding your time’. Sure, they dress it up in all kinds of clothes and wigs, (doing little tea-parties to convince you), but tbh, these guys just don’t know what to do.

They don’t have what it takes.

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About runningvein
Avatar of runningvein
"My pieces comprise, entirely, works of fiction. Some pieces are shorts, others tend to get a little longer. Some are straightforward and may be read evenly, while others can tend to be amorphous. You see, sometimes the writer does his piece completely lucid, sitting straight up and staring intently into it as his fingers simply glide across the keys. Other times his eyes are opaque with tears from imaginary emotions. Sentences, nay, words, barely come out as he stabs at each letter with one trembling finger, like how your mom types. Then there are the times a piece of work is scrawled from a leaking pen on a notepad in a bar after several whiskeys, as the writer gleefully tries to get everything down before the bouncers come over to throw him out for laughing like a crazy person to himself all night. The writer cannot say what is good, or what is bad. He can only write. It does not do for one to rank a piece of his work above others, just as it does not do for one to deign to strive to be published. That must be left to others, to come and ask the writer if they may publish his work, and that all of the work would be copyright (c) him 2000-2009, if they were to do so. Some of the pieces may even seem far too real -- as though he's actually blogging about his real life, his personal thoughts. You know -- because it is a blog, some people may think that may be the case. Well it ain't, damn you, it ain't." The man in the tracksuit shrugged over the counter. "Thanks for the info, Hemingway," he said, "but I just wanted to know where the damn ATM is."

2 thoughts on “This Is NOT An Autobiography of the E”

  1. Avatar of JAYRAY
    September 3, 2010 at 3:54 pm
    JAYRAY says:

    I’m not sure I get you completely here, then, I’m not sure you’re trying to be completely gotten.

  2. Avatar of James-Dean
    September 13, 2010 at 1:10 am
    James-Dean says:

    fuck, i like callin em dames. damnit

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