Ugh, so much of the shit I’ve written in here is utterly cringe bananas.

Like, holy Jesus beaver fuck.

You know…. beavers could have saved Jesus, when you think about it. Gnawed that shit down.

But back to the poopy dumpster fire that is the assorted collection of posts about which I am viscerally embarrassed….

About which I audibly and visibly cringe….

I am sorry, future beneficiaries of posterity, for the number of posts that read as if they spewed forth from my posterior.

These are mostly, as I once called them, posts about “abominable relationship shit”; myriad cliches from which my instincts unmercifully did not shy away; countless spelling and grammar errors as I gradually increased the discipline with which I approached such skills; factually incorrect statements about my childhood and teenage lives that were occasionally employed to dramatize uncommonly difficult experiences, the extremity of which I had not yet figured out the words to properly convey; the sheer volume of poetic effluent that is relentlessly mediocre or worse; the fact that so many posts were exercises in technical experimentation that were not written with an audience in mind; the habit of deeply cryptic writing that starts to appear in the later years; and god, have I mentioned how acutely mortifying the whiny relationship posts are?!