I'm working on a new book which is a diary/biography written under this, the Blooming Psycho name. It will be called Diary of an Alien. All I really want to do is sleep. I'm not suicidal, just tired and sad.
I'm still working on the fiction books but I have lost my enthusiasm. I no longer think that I will one day be seen as a worthy cult fiction author. Just a loser and a wannabe. Even my so called friends told me that what I write is stupid and not worthy of reading. I don't care. Well, yeah I do. That hurts. But I'm going to write it anyway because I think it's worthy of writing even if nobody thinks its worthy of reading.
I'd read it if I wasn't me.
I wish I was worthy of being.
xoxo
PSYCHO
