A writer, a human, can only be who they will be. I may be sick. I have, like most, taken for granted, this ability of sight, never honestly trying to understand the blind, merely congratulating them with surviving. The fact is, that many of the most pure and gifted of artists who have ever lived have lost their ability which makes their passion so universal, their eyes; this that we can universally speak with to any human, even without language, and they remembered what it looked like, even after the sunspots had faded, and they continued to show us what we couldn’t see, even those with a perfect view, and they did this, even when they couldn’t see the rock that we continued to trip over. How I’ve taken my eyes for granted, but haven’t we all?
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Adventures In American Writing 
Another great post. See you around
Summers off? You aint no writer man. you want me to write for you, well that’s going to cost ten years of what you make, ha. seriously man, come on, you aint messing with me. I roll with myself, and if if you have some money, send it my way, and then we can talk. fuck, who do you think I am. I can write about anything, and this road aint leading me to some person with a scam, that wants me to maybe write something by leaving me all these generic messages over and fucking over. I’ll write for you when the money is in the account, and then, I’ll bleed some words and sell my soul for this shit show. You understand?
Your company can go fuck itself.
sorry for all of that, I was drinking and just angry.