I humbly invite you to take a step into my confused teenage mentality.

Tital says it all really.

CHAPTER ONE:
IM WRITING ANOTHER BOOK. And I highly advise you not to read it.

Subtle hints of plummeting hatred begin to pound on my numbness attempting to drive my mind into relaps, into the obismol pit of endless depression...
I can almost here the dramatic classical piano, hammering down of the keys in A minor, a tragicly beautiful, magnificent master peice of marvellous chaos is the background music to my dark comedy of a life.
If my mind was a movie I'd like to think it'd be directed by the brilliant creator; Tim Burton. It would be a musical film, featuring songs such as Roxane el de tango (or whatever it's called) from the mesmerising movie Moulin rouge. But as it is at the moment it's not that grand, I can't afford expert producers, directors and actors.. Right now it's more like an open mike night.. With one of those barely established comedians nobody knows, who's jokes are only JUST sorta kinda funny enough to occasionally produce a slight chuckle at most from the 5 people you couldn't really call an audience let alone a crowd. My life would be narrated by lemony snicket, in the exact manor the brilliant movie adaption of his beautiful and creatively dark children's book series, 'a series of unfortunate events' was narrated. And finally, the tital, atleast of the present chapter would be stollen from the awesome comedian, Kevin heart and his movie: 'laugh at my pain.' Because that, my dear readers, unfortunate witnesses, and probably considerably bored listeners, is what I seem to be experiencing a rather large dosage of, pure, uncut, seemingly unessorceery and pretty much un- noticed by most (or atleast un- cared for)- PAIN.

I do very much hope this quickly written and poorly scribbled, drool worthy babble of an introduction has disturbed you enough for you to leave this immature teenage bio alone.
My mind is a messed up master piece I refuse to hold back from sharing, but would hate to cause burden by forcing my thoughts on any unwilling to hear. So, if by now I haven't rambled on enough, I shall state one last time in the simplest of sentences i can possibly produce,
If you proceed, proceed with caution.
For I will hold no responsibility for your scaring, nor will I answer kindly to any cruel judgments, patronising empathy or.. abserlute inspiration I may cause to readers (cuz tbh from my darkest pit holes and 'in-experienced' little experiments, ima try my very hardest to be as damn motivational as I will come to find humanly possible.) Everybody needs a pick up some points in their improvisational acting career for this little play we like to call life. I wanna be your prompt. An un-qualified, invisible script reader for when u forget your lines. Simply because 'misery loves company' and I can't help but sympathise for everybody being forced to live a life we were never really warned about. Never asked if we would like to enter this play. When were the ordinations!? Exactly. F**k the unfortunate, curious and unknown. We have been given an experience and I think the only reasonable option is to make the very best of it we possibly can.
After all "God IS a dj and life IS the dance floor"... 'n I want a dance Partner. So, my newly masked equantence, hiding somewhere in the maze of real life and joint together with me only by words on these pages (or screens rather, this is the modern day) ..would you take my hand, and place your other on my hip, step to the music as the allusions begin? The dance floor shall be ours, as we begin to embark on a journey, embracing the steps into.. not a new beginning, but, a new chapter. A grand chapter, indulging in increasing curiosity, intriguing the audience and yurning them to read just onee more page. Our journey will become an addiction, giving away justt enough brilliance every now and again for our reader to be begging for more. Will it be worth the frustratingly intriguing, stalling and mysteriously distracting (plus miss-spelled and terribly punctuated) randomness? ..you'll just have to read on and find out, won't you.

..Tbh I'm around 80% sure you'll be disappointed. Respect for still being here though..
What ever floats your boat.. If your into depressing little tragedies speaking their mind like there's no tomorrow.. Okay, no judgment. o.O

So, it's a new day. Well new ish. 4pm in a coffee shop, I'm sitting alone, stalling. I hate that you have to buy something when you want to just sit. All I want is somewhere to hide from reality and unrecognisably wait. But I suppose coffee isn't too great of a sacrifice for this little solitude of mine. It's quite a delicious addiction after all.
Unfortunately I've suffered from many messed up eating disorders in the past. Sometimes when I eat/ drink one (expensively) scrumptious form of fat, I can't help but crave about 20 more of whatever those little triggers may be. But, as I sit, with the smooth, dark leather seat beneath me, feeling equally as sick at myself mentally as I now do physically (the chocolate swirls were on offer..) and I stare at the deep blue walls, with swirls of gold and painted quotes and hanging photos, I start to notice a new distraction... And all of a sudden... OMG my ears are orgasming. This smooth jazz music/blues, deep, dark, husky male lyrical therapy combined with slow, satisfying saxophone, carries me away.. My eyes are closing, but I don't want to miss a minuet, I may never hear it again.. I'm surrounded by stories. Story's in lyrics. It's only background music. But music is my form of heaven on earth, it's a magical escape that nothing else compares to. I like to think of my self as a collector. Where ever I go, who ever I see, what ever random radio station is playing behind the bar.. Occasionally I'll hear a new song. A song worthy of my love and repetitive listening to untill I'm sick of it. I go home, Google the few words I picked up and managed to remember, and scroll and scroll until I see something that seems familiar. I'm a hunter, and catching my pray is undeniably satisfying to say the least.

Author's Note

I do not know how long I intend what ever this peice of righting is to be. I suppose tequnicly I could continue annotating my life and translating akward moments into individual syllables for ever more. Then again I could just as easily cut it off with the first peice. Guess I'll just see. Anyway as usual Id like to warn you about the terrible spalling and grammer that CAN be expected from this writing of mine. I do apologies. Please don't let it distract your focus too much. Or do.. The writings not amazing...