How to Write Like a Motherfucker

Wanna get shit done faster? Wanna not be misunderstood? Then fuckin learn how to write. It's hard, and we all think we know how to do it. We think cause we can walk, we can run, jump, and fly. Most people are barely crawling. That's a big fuckin problem. If most of the adults can't read or write good, our society's gonna be a shitshow.

That's not true. We got better literacy rates than ever before. No one's ever read or writ better'n us. So what can we all do to improve the world? How best to use the skill as a writer? What needs to be written? How best to move forward?

I'm not here to fuckin tell you. I'm here to give you a portrait of a person. We've lost sight of our brothers and sisters. I dunno, some bully-bullshit: A Narrative of the Life of Ben Walker, Slave to the System.

Portrait of a Human

What's my life's purpose? Tell the stories of my people. It's as simple as that. I'm not working for some theoretical future. We're all gonna turn into robots soon anyway. Nah, I'm writing for the Here and Now. I'm writing for you in the room. You and I are the only ones here. And what's the best possible thing for you and I to do with our last moments together?

Fuck.

Due to the fact that's physically impossible, we must revert to plan B, and find out the most about who we are and figure out the best way to survive on this hostile rock.

I open myself to you. All I can give is the truth. Can either of us handle it? That's a good question. A better question is will I be able to get good enough at opening my soul and drawing out the words and sentences of one human's consciousness. This is a Portrait of a Human as honestly as I can get it.

I'ma fuck it up, sure. But here and there I might get it – my truth to you, all packaged and ribboned.

The Dream Came True

It's so fun bein independent-minded. I don't take anyone's shit on face value, least of all my own. If you believe something then fuckin just do it. The world doesn't need any more preachers. Jesus Fuck. He woulda had a hard time bein heard over all the competing voices had He lived in our day. What if Jesus came back as an influencer? Would you follow that shit?

I'ma look at a screen for 12 hours today, just like I did yesterday and the day before that. It's another day at the glittering coal face. Me and millions of other Millennials sit in the pale light of an LED screen, squinting to try to see the gold in the code, imaged and pixelated to help us sift through. 

We're panning for gold as well as digging coal and our fingers and eyes move quickly. The rest of our body's atrophied in the chair. A hundred million, ten hundred million souls sacrificed on the altar of progress. Tomorrow the same thing.

And when will Progress ever turn and thank its key workers? All the drones and soldiers and workers grafting themselves to the bone to keep the hive-colony going. As soon as they fall they're mixed into the walls to strengthen the structure and another worker bee is wheeled in and plugged into the Machine.

We're a ruthless bunch of Progressionists. It's nothing personal, we tell ourselves as we murder our mothers. You see, everything is cause and effect, ebb and flow, up and down, in and out, boom and bust, whatever metaphor it takes to appreciate Progress doesn't give a fuck about your feelings so just shut the fuck up and get back to work.

So what's the big trade-off? What does a worker bee get for worker-beeing itself to death? Paradise on Earth? How about the ability to buy whatever you want whenever you want? Does that sound like something you might be interested in? If yes, then we're very much in business, my friend. If no, then move along motherfucker, can't you see there's people behind you?

I love how much respect we're treated with nowadays as consumers. I feel like James Bond every time I fly Cunt Air with a thousand other cunts all steaming and sweating in cheap plastic seats. I feel like Marilyn Monroe every time I take another hot plastic bag from another hot plastic Deliveroo driver. It's so romantic eating lukewarm curry outta smeared styrofoam trays. I'm fuckin Frankie, Sammy, and all the Rat-Pack-In-One as I lose my shit at the self-checkout machine, crying in embarrassed rage and the 16-year-old in a blue and orange uniform's just looking at me and smirking.

Oh yeah, the Dream definitely came true for this little capitalist shmuck. I have clean water, hot food, and a roof over my head protecting me from predatory cats. What more could I possibly want?

A Life of Soft Complexity

Yesterday I stretched, went for two runs, and worked out twice. Now it hurts when I move my legs. It feels good though to be stiff and sore. I haven't done for months. That's not good for me. My life has become soft and complex and like Orwell says, it should be simple and hard.

I've had plenty of simple hard living, just not for a while. I miss it, labouring manually on a farm in Cumbria from dawn till dusk under the sun, clouds, and rain, eating plenty and sleeping sound. These last few years I've lived the soft complex life of a young urban professional.

So now I'm tryna work my way outta the complexity, back to the simple life. But I ain't going backwards. This is still progression, it's just taking account of some different metrics.

A simple life is where you look at a screen less than you look at the real world. Simple means waking up with the sun and going to bed with it too. Simple means thinking about one thing at a time. Simple means not checking your phone for days because you can talk to anyone you want – they're right there in the community. Simple means eating food straight from the land, not this weird conveyor belt system full of bleach and underpaid workers. Simple means living the majority of your life as people lived them for thousands of years, not how we've been able to for the past ten or twelve years.

Our civilization has changed through technology and we still have no idea what it means. We've had computers in the house for less than my lifetime and I still pretty much feel like a kid. Nah. Well, sometimes I do but mostly I feel like a soft complex adult who's thought too much and toiled too little.

It's obvious I don't get enough sun. What the fuck? As if that's a real problem. Thank you, Society, for providing me with such wonderful gifts and privileges, but fuck you for letting me become such a soft complex cunt.

I guess I can't blame you. There's no one to blame. Blaming never does anyone any good. What positive change can you make right now? Be nice to your neighbours. They're real people like you. Let the little and big things go. Try to improve yourself, not the world. Your actions right now ring through eternity. Immortality is within your grasp. Reach out and take it. So sayeth Saint Bradley of Pitt.