This is the only page on this entire ventsite that will be bullshit-free and vegan-mind friendly.
I write. Is that of any fake news to anyone? You’re reading this, so obviously someone needed to have written it…
Who I am behind the letters? Cliches and downright niches between cringe and ridiculous, but with a tint of peppermint for those who don’t think literature and art stopped and dropped the soap in front of Balzac and Matisse. Look, hate it or love it, I put the truth on top, and I’m gon’ shine baby until my heart stop.
Trends in literature? Sure? Everybody thought Hemingway and Faulkner were masterminds, where in reality only hipsters still read (ad-mit-iiiiiiit) “For Whom the Bells Toll” and the Yoknapatawpha inbred multi-laterally-developed characters of these dead planets. I still invite people, read them, read Homer and read Kant, even though they would bore the shit out of a 5 year old with superpowers, but don’t hurry up and tie the noose around critique’s penis and say “they’re brilliant”. Hemingway I loved (personal bias) for “A Clean Well-Lighted Place”, and Faulkner for “The Sound and the Fury”.
Didn’t even start to talk about me and I already plunged into ideas. It’s not that I’m an intellectual, but Simon, the author of this website, is at least trying. People have stopped trying. And I don’t have philosophical discussions when a friend just called me to inform me that his parents both died in a freak rodeo accident because I don’t care about the rodeo, but I do it because I’m hardwired like that. I don’t gigs, I don’t music socially, because music is for the soul, not for the t-shirts, you spotify-driven sandwichmen! I don’t chill, I don’t hang, I don’t do deep conversations because I’m this intellectually insecure person that will parasite on other people’s mental flowers just to feel that their Tinder description, “not into small-talk”, has some sort of physical counterpart in reality.
I write, I sit on my high horse all the time, because quite frankly, by doing it I don’t have to deal with the tweety bullshit that everybody’s throwing my way each time they think a haircut needs a proper annunciation. You got a haircut, fuck if I care, man… if I trim my underbush do I come to you? Each time I pluck the hair from my nose with the tweezers do I speak to you while gaping with my nostrils to the sky because I want to be noticed? No… No.
Some say I’m too much. I say they’re too little. Intelligence isn’t something you practice every time your fucking boring ass Netflix show came to a stop. Put THAT on a t-shirt and read my ventsite. It’ll do the estrogen in your cojones some good.
Oh, I was about to leave you without pointing out who I am. I have my LinkedIn and Paypal and Pantheon accounts, as well as Facebook and Instagram links here.
When in reality I have left you the breadcrumbs of my maze-like existence within my texts. See you there:
I will leave you with a quote that made Simon cry, and I will let you know that the quote is self-explanatory-less-to-say that it represents not only me (?!), but the essence of my whole ecumenical writing ideal:
The old appeals to racial, sexual, and religious chauvinism, and to rabid nationalist fervor are beginning not to work. A new consciousness is developing which sees the Earth as a single organism, and recognizes that an organism at war with itself is doomed. We are one planet.
Have a good one,