Running away to get away....
Or how the fuck I want to start my personal journey of the year of our potentially chaotic lord Two thousand and twenty three.
Dear fuck. Some hours into 2023, and I’m already fucking confused about Substack. I did promised myself that I would find any excuse to write onto this platform and showcase my verbal cloudcuckoolander bullfuckery, but time + life = most of my 2022. Putting out fires, making sure that things are placed neatly and in it’s proper place. Even though it was at the cost of my own time/boundaries/sanity points. With this post as my witness, as I start to re-learn what buttons and things to place from top to bottom, I will post here more often.
It’s something I need to stick as I want expand my writing to a bigger audience. Or, as I mumble to myself on my disaster of a bed, listening to the adorably loud chill livestream of one of my favorite voice actors sort dice, I want to spread the gospel of my charming correspondent vomit worldwide.
Here’s me a hopin’ and a’prayin that I get enough brain milage to make this shit work.
At least, to remember to write in this bitch every chance I get.
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Write on, noble Dom! Write on!