A Beautiful War

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Starting a blog is, by dictionary definition, committing the sin of assuming that other people find your life as interesting as you think it is.

The truth is, nobody really gives a fuck about you, or the way you see the world.

The world cares about facts and numbers.

The fact is: anything I say or write here comes from two places: my heart and my experience.

The numbers say that you and I are probably not a part of the elite club, the 1% . . or else we wouldn’t be here.

You would probably be somewhere else in the world. Maybe driving your Maserati on the Autobahn road in Germany. I would probably be in Las Vegas. Losing money on the big boys table . You’d be shopping in Milano and I’d be flying my private jet over the Bahamas.

Instead, we are here.

The truth is folks: the internet is for the mob. For the 99%; the internet is the weapon of the underdog.

There are no gatekeepers anymore; all the knowledge and wisdom in the world that once have been exclusive to the elite, are now seconds within your reach. All you have to do is swipe your smartphone, open a Google tab, and then BOOM!

This why I started this blog; because it’s the only way we can stick it to The Man. I am not going to protest on the streets. That’s useless. Fuck Occupy Wall Street. Fuck Occupy London. I am occupying Cyberspace. The internet is the only battleground where we can win.

In the process of me rebelling “without a cause” against All The King’s Men, and trying desperately to document it, all the forces driving me keep coming into constant conflict. My social conditioning. My never-ending craving for growth. My self-doubt. My desire to be loved by women. As a result, I hurt people’s feelings. I made a lot of bad choices. And I got myself in troubles most of the time.

But I am also having the best time of my life. And therein lies the conflict.

From each of these experiences, you will be reading about, I’ve tried to extract a lesson. And that hasn’t always been easy. Because some of these experiences shouldn’t have happened in the first place.

Fiction writers are lucky; they can hide behind the flawed characters they create. Here, the only flawed character is me.


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