Friday, October 19, 2018

An aspiration. I am composing The Return Of Kazootra

I guess it's safe to share a fulminating, painful secret.   There is an epic project shinnying up the greased inside track of a cosmic stainless steel cork screw that is forever pointed downward.  I hope to reach the synthetic scrimshaw handle, carrying with me a book titled The Return of Kazootra. 

Don't bother trying to plagiarize.  I've already published fragments of the work, with the same title in fat bold Times New Roman.  It's a modern mythology based on stooges I've known too well to let slide out of permanent opprobrium, at least if I can help it.   I feel entitled to some form of justice, something off the grid.   To realize any dream, one has to describe it to people who have the beams and nails to build it for you.  I am constructing greater knowledge of chickenshit losers from the past. 

Return Of Kazootra is mythology.  People are fixated on ancient myth.  It's why Trump is president.  People were reading ancient myth, when they should have had their snoots pressed to this myth, mine, about people who did us all the disservice of being conceived by their pestilential and ambitious mom and pop during the fart-biting disasterous baby boom.   Instead of that, everyone has been drinking main stream media atomic fizz and bilge water while Rome gets conflagrated.  I've decided to post, openly, about the writing project, even though the fucking thing isn't ready to be published.  And, you will laugh, if and when I finish Return Of Kazootra, I will try to hawk it to a main stream publisher.  I wanna, wanna, wanna fat ass book deal.  

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