VICTORIOUS COLLOQUIALISM

[harpo-my-“SON”Participant 2410]

Written  one day before International MGTOW Day and my birth-date. Happy MGTOW Day

If it don’t make sense to you remember that I am writing a book about my childhood and my memory is my personal
conscious limitation. Although I consider mine a happy childhood it was not without problems and tribulations. Writing about the rough times is some laborious hacking, but by doing this I sharpen my skills as a writer while at the same time make good use of bad memories. If the pen is mightier than the sword then I am getting ready to go on the offensive.

VICTORIOUS COLLOQUIALISM or ARMY OF CREATIVE EXPRESSION

You could fearfully move through the uncharted underbrush of your own conscious limitations, laboriously hacking at the woes and agony of an unfulfilled problematic existence, to find that the causes of your tribulations are like smooth stones you gather along the way. Sadness, Suffering, distress and grief should hone one edge of your mental machete while heartache sorrow anguish and regret sharpen the opposite edge, resulting in a mind over matter attitude so finely grind-ed, filed and stropped, to a hardened diamond like edge, that life can offer up no problem or barrier impervious to it’s attack. I have done this myself and attack I shall. Showing no mercy or quarter. My words and wits causing mirth and laughter to jump to my side like fearless allies joining in my ever growing army of accumulated lexicon. My personal sling-blade of jargon, tempered by the outlandish flames of dialect, will courageously carve a new and spontaneous path through the treacherous brambles of my optimistic future. (OMROT)

I was bound to be misunderstood, and I laugh at those who misunderstand me. Kind mockery at the well intentioned, but unfettered cruelty towards those would be prison guards of my creative possibilities. This so as to learn as much from misunderstanding as from understanding. Taking pleasure in worthy opponents and making language fluid and flowing like a river yet pointed and precise as a dagger. Contradicts the socialistic purpose of language and makes for a wonderful linguistic dance, A verbal martial art with constant parries that hone the weapon that is the two edged sword of my mouth.

[Author]

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