'Relationship Syndrome' and other slightly pretencious things i could put as a title.

I was going to put the finishing touches to my three part epic about 'Anonymous', its roots, its implications, my (partial) past involvement in the 'Project Cahnology' thing you have probably never heard of and then segway neatly into my sweeping history/deconstruction/education about Scientology, its terms, its baffling celebrity involvement and general balls-out headfuckery that can borderline on the DMT trip insane and make you need to stare blankly out of a window for a few hours whilst you digest what this means for you world view. And then i was going to do a little dance.

But fuck that, I'm going to moan about not getting laid. If i sound like a destitute man's Yahtzee or Charlie Brooker who in turn are a tame world weary hipster ercho of Hunter Thompson or Bill Hicks then you realise that my natural writing style is basically nicked wholesale from them, or at least shares a 'common ancestor'. Writing is like evolution in that it mercilessly copies what is successful and runs the fuck away with it waving its arms about. The "Writing snide bullshit from a dark room" sub genre has gained a sizable nice and thus is able to speciate from the mass market copy like a Galapagos Finch who eats nothing but hope and shits slightly superior cynicism. 

But (as i do best) i digress. This is how my hands tend to want to write and im so very Meta i might even post a screnncap of me typing thing with screenwipe and The Escapist open knowingly below.

See im so fucking Meta i shit the 4th wall. In this world of post everying its hard to fight off some kind of eggistential crysis (hurr derp) and muster up the courage to leave the house nevermind find someone who is willing to put up with you and your miss-spent, frujstrated intelectialising. Im sat here doing what every other midly knowing, witty internet jerk-off is doing and being all derrivative in my bitterness, rage and doing it in a sickeneningly self concious way, whithh broken spell check no less! But this is how i want to relate, im mad as hell and... i have nothing better to be doing right now. Im kind of the totally fake anti-blogger, reveling in my total obscurity yet putting material out there anyway. Im tht underground, anti-capitalist band who are signed to a major label expect without the money. My distain for the bloggosphere in all its wretched "Look at me! Look at ME! I only matter when people are looking!" is underpinned by ar urge to simply he heard and apreciated in that way. If im shouting into the void then im doing it in the same vain hope the others are.

But anyway, since ive turned this into a stealth peice that is really about writing i'd better swing it round and justify it being about relationships so i  don't get bitching comments. I don't get comments anyway but what the hell. The internet has rules. I can but obey. Comming up in part 2. I get the fuck on with it!