There’s a collection of drafts marooned in my archive, lingering like specters, torn between the clash of my ideals and the cold, unyielding glare of reality. This dissonance has churned a maelstrom of crosscurrents in my mind — thoughts that whirl around whether my words appear too stern, too conservative, or perhaps, too incendiary. I’ve often been labeled as the "angry one," a title I wear as both a badge and a burden. My writings are steeped in this anger, laced with scorn, and critiques that could only be described as blistering. Some might say this approach is inimical, even self-sabotaging, but I find a certain grim satisfaction in this rage. Why? Because people, by and large, are genuinely, incontrovertibly, stupid. Call it condescension if you must, but truth remains immutable.
Anger, you see, has been the lifeblood of my prose, the core of my expression. It’s a force I’ve grappled with, teetering between whether to temper it or to let it flow unabated. Yet, as I revisit these dormant drafts, I am reminded that my Substack was never conceived to pander to the whims of perfection or to the sanitized sensibilities of the faint-hearted. It is a raw, unfiltered outlet for my ideologies — an arena where thoughts are allowed to wrestle and clash, where despotic or authoritarian musings are given free rein. In the years to come, I wish to look back at these writings as one does at the marks on a doorframe, tracing the growth from fury to whatever lies beyond.
It’s fine if you judge me by these ostentatious outbursts, if you find in them the fuel for your prejudice against me. I harbor no grief over that. For in the end, the essence of life is growth — an evolution that demands a baseline, a starting point that is often jagged and uncomfortable.
And so, I’ve resolved to be more steadfast in updating this blog, to allow these thoughts, whether brief flashes or lengthy discourses, to emerge from the abyss of anger that spawns them. Let them stand as they are — despotic, mean-spirited, and brutally honest.
Here’s to the journey, the growth, and to the fury that drives it.
May your week be anything but mundane.