Writing since I was in the womb. I have one vivid moment before birth (yes, while still in Mommy’s tummy) scribbling my first story. Fuck, maybe it was a dream. Besides, what’s the difference between a story, a dream, or this crazy little thing called life?
Anyway, second grade I wrote my first masterpiece. Before any studios eyes saw the $$ signs, I penned the original draft of “Freddy vs. Jason: IN HELL.” I guess my teacher didn’t appreciate. (Oh, Sister Anne, bet you’re still smoking.) It’s cool. Public school may have saved my ass, kept my manhood in check. (Although, I’m still a little annoyed I’ve yet to see a dime in royalties, WTF?)
Bottom line, I write. Not sure if it’s still applicable but fuck it. My fiction is raw, dark, gritty, repulsive, and alarming to some. Others find it humorous. I find it to be as close to the truth as possible. I post angry tirades when the mood’s right. Usually after midnight.
Finally (if anyone’s still reading), I put my remaining words to work writing about music, pop culture and working on my long-gestating novel. Life’s full of endless journeys and the roads traveled upon quite often have plenty of detours along the way. You can’t always predict the next song that plays in the Album-of-Your-Life, but you can choose your words.
Kick back, relax and enjoy. It’s The Soundtrack To (Y)Our Eventual Death.
Question: If you could peer far enough into the night sky, you’d see a star in any direction you looked. When would you sleep?
I must’ve forgot to mention the fact I don’t care if I sleep tonight, tomorrow, or ever. Have yet to discover the map leading there. It could be the next stop. And the next stop could always be the last stop. You just never know.
– Walter Kolo