Hi. I’m a fuck up.
A fuck off. Fuck all. Fuck wit. Fuck tut. Fuck wad. Fuck nut. Or whatever the taxonomy of your particular municipality, province, territory, or town.
And I’ve been one pretty much my entire life.
Now, don’t get me wrong.
I’m not down on it. I’m not sending anyone flowers or bowing my head. Actually, most days, I feel pretty fuck-an-A okay to be a fuck tut.
I know a few things. I’ve seen some stuff.
I have a wickedly delicious skill-set and a decent brain case.
I’ve been completely invisible. I’ve been adored.
I’ve been the youngest and the oldest in the scene. I’ve been the guy that saved the day. I’ve been the dumb ass who totally screwed the pooch.
I’ve been the guy you wasted your twenties trying to fix.
Some may say that I’m not that bad on the eyes. Some may say I’m not entirely an asshole. Some.
I’m pretty sure that I’ve uttered a few phrases that have seeded small fields of psalm. I’m pretty sure I’ve caught the decaying embers of a couple ancient celestial songs.
But I am surely a fuck nut.
Although. To be fair.
I’ve also never shook loose the change from the upended pockets of those that only have loose change. I’ve never thrown someone off a building or under the bus because of a hiccup in The Eternally Ascending Profit Line.
I don’t believe in allocating breaths and minutes to peddling drivel. By myself, or any other. So Old Money’s grandchild can get ass implants. So New Money can summer on the Vineyard.
I’ve never thought anyone’s life was worth more or less than mine.
I’ve never thought anyone’s time was worth more or less than mine.
I think synergy can just eat a bag of dicks.
I have lived more places than most visit. I have jumped from rooftops and flipped automobiles. I have outmaneuvered squadrons of police on foot. I have been the focus of beat down circles composed of music teachers.
I have witnessed the murder and natural death of love.
I have never really had a boss.
I’ve lived at the top of Downtown high-rises. Where the wealthy masturbate in front of each other. I’ve slept on benches in Central Park. Where the homeless masturbate in front of each other.
I’ve drank fermented offerings in clusters of wood huts. Where people sometimes still spear each other. I’ve sipped wine aged generations. In restaurants that serve only politicians and their mistresses.
I’ve seen a moonless night spin from the dark heart of the earth. Danced with beasts that wanted to eat me. Laughed with the old and sick about ridiculous ends.
But. I am definitely a fuck wit.
I live in other people’s basements. I am writing this from other people’s basements.
I owe more than what someone would pay to kill me.
I live in a time and place where the (NOT- South or Central- and good lord, most definitely, not Canadian) American dream is to literally purchase your American dream. And here I totally suck at diversifying my portfolio.
I would love to tell you I only have so much in my bank account if I had a bank account.
And if I could somehow strap on an eyepatch and sail away, or race across the county line, or fake my death and steal it all. From only the assholes, but still, EVERY asshole. Fuck yes.
I am naive. I depend on the graciousness of others. I am selfish.
I only feel at ease when I’m moving but have nowhere to go.
My only quest is to find the cakewalk.
I will not end well.
I. Am a fuck wad.
And I just had a child.
So, yeah. I’m going to write a parenting advice column.
(Because the Internet.)
SUPER EXCITING ADVICE NUMBER ONE:
Don’t Shake the Baby.