The Gonzo Wolf

Hey folks,

Tis the Reverend.

I’ve gotten lots of new followers here as of late, but I’ve been unusually quiet this week.

You see, most artists are just depressed balls of nerves who create as an outlet to keep them sane and alive.

This is one of those weeks of the month when I pull inside myself, fascinate over the past as though it’s something I could’ve changed, ponder whether or not I should apologized to the literally hundreds of people I shit on in my exodus, and develop massive imposter syndrome.

My brain’s time of the month, when it stops listening to my heart and inventories my missteps. Every blink of my eyes are a moment in darkness; force-fed the movie of my life, made by a shitty Netflix studio in Van Nuys formerly owned by a low-grade porn studio, and the captions on via a broken remote.

It’s in these times I absolutely cannot create. I mean, I could, but that’s how we get things like Starving Zoe. Actually, to some, I should create in this state more often. I’m truly scared of these weeks, though.

You see, when you consume, consume, consume, without matching it in creation, you’re overwhelmed by whatever type of information you’ve ingested.

What have we consumed, folks? Crooked politicians, war, deaths of children, and sex crimes covered up by celebrities we all idolized – or at least “trusted” – for decades.

I’ve barely written and haven’t picked up a guitar in over a week. I feel that if I do so while in my current state, I’m insulting the beautiful instrument. And my talent, for that matter.

I’ll be back. I’ve been catching up on sleep and cuddling the Queen. Eating good food and binging Deep Space Nine. Playing a lot of Skyrim as well; their politics make more sense.

Thank you all for your recent interest and interactions regarding everything I feel I’m all about. I have unlimited time, resources, and talent…yet I’ve wasted so much of it since the pandemic/Jan 6th mind-job. I even stopped watching hockey. I don’t think I could cry as an emergency outlet, even if I wanted to. The military made damned sure of that.

Kidnappers, religious poons, deadbeats, and the never-ending quest to define ME by THEIR beliefs. I fled this, just to land right back into the middle.

I’ve taken a mental deep breath to prevent my mind from creating and carrying out the most horrendous of confrontation scenarios. All it takes is one, and the rest should get the message, but why bother? The uphill battle of individuality in a field of human/sheep hybrids, all in the name of the Lord…but I digress, as usual.

This country is a metaphorical thunderstorm awaiting the first drop with baited breath.

Helm’s Deep.

I think I want out.