It’s a joy to write. It’s a pleasure to share.

The question becomes, do people read what I share? Does it make a difference for anyone but myself? If not, what’s the point? Why continue to write if no one reads and it makes little to no difference in the lives of others?

I’m not sure anymore. Maybe I’ve never had a firm grasp on why I continue to write.

In reality, I’ve had the same experience with all the various authors I’ve met on social media, specifically Twitter. My tweets must be the culprit, as this is how I define myself for anyone I only know via Twitter. This is why I bring up talking on the phone. Having a chat on the phone. Maybe that doesn’t make a difference, maybe it’d have to be something like being at a job location for half the day together, or spending more time around each other to really observe me as a person.

At this point it’s too late to change anything radically in the opposite direction, which would be a positive direction. I want nothing more for that positive change, and still, I’m actually not in control of that…Because I cannot control how other people regard me in this life. I can modify and adjust my personality, to fit in more with the herd that is the masses. Again, if I do that, I feel I diminish my nature as a unique artist. Only one version of me. Why would I try to blend in with the crowd? I mean, I’m a giant, heavily tatted, with a beard. Am I suppose to sit in a wheelchair? Well then I’m in a fucking wheelchair, which is just as much an eye sore as being a fucking giant, so I can’t win.

It might be one of the worst feelings when, the people you dream of working with, do not share this dream. Some seem like this dream, of working together, might have some initial appeal, or attractive qualities; then, it falls through. It’s inevitable I’m going to tweet something that rubs someone the wrong way- but goddamn, and I truly rubbing more than ninety percent of you the wrong way? The problem with that is, who the fuck am I supposed to work with, if such a low percentage of individuals is all I have to work with? That’s like being the schoolyard basketball captain, and it’s down to the last two kids- they both suck at basketball, and it’s really almost a joke they even stand on the court because they want to be involved more than sitting on the bench under the ramada, by themselves, twiddling their thumbs like some loser. Those two kids aren’t athletic, probably never will be because health just isn’t a top priority for these two kids…And yet, here they are- and they must be picked.

Well fuck that. I just won’t play schoolyard basketball, fuck it. I’ll go find some place to hide out and write in peace. Or read in peace. Then, I’ll go back to class once the recess is over.

The two individuals I’m trying to work with to write stuff, are in tough places. Lots to process, and for some reason, it’s just not gonna happen right now. I wish I could say this doesn’t depress me, but it kinda does. I’m a fan of if, I can’t figure it out by myself, why not come together with another person who loves to write, and work as a team. I used to be a decent athlete, and absolutely know what it’s like to work as a team, to be a player for the team, beyond just myself. Why? Because The Raiders can’t win a football game with just the quarterback. It’s a team sport. Life, through our relationships, is a team effort. Do you know what’s deemed one of the worst things to do to someone? Solitary confinement, typically in a prison. Sad thing is you don’t have to be locked up to be alienated and left alone by other people. You just have to really disturb others so much that they refuse to acknowledge your existence in this life. Eerie, how we can do that to certain people, and not be incarcerated for that. Like, it’s not a punishable crime to treat someone like they don’t exist. Can you believe that? People kill other people, and kill themselves, because they felt so miserable about their lack of acceptance.

I’m thankfully smart enough to know that I don’t want to die, not yet. Nor do I want to be behind bars, ever again. So, I guess my point is, fuck it. Like I said earlier in this post, I’ll go find a secret spot to camp out at, then read and write. My dogs are amazing. My family is pretty awesome. Know a few people who are pretty cool. So it could be worse, all in all.

This post was more me analyzing myself for you all, to show you how intense life can be, yet- by the end of the meat of this post, my glass remains half full, so to speak. I’m aware of as much as I can be. I do my part to stay focusing on what is healthy and a positive outlet. Such as writing these posts, or reading whatever it is that I want to read. Sometimes I read stuff I don’t really want to read if only to make sure I see what not to do within my own writing.

It is a joy to write. It is a pleasure to share.

I write because it makes me happy. I share because I have faith in me.

Philip Webb

I’ll turn thirty-five later this year in September. Crazy how much faster time moves, the older I’ve grow. Seems like I just turned thirty, yesterday. Time must be a concept of the mind, that we are all bound to.

However, that’s not relevant to this post.

If I just had the brain injury, maybe my life would be different at this point in time. The problem for me is, I also have a personality disorder. Most likely some kind of variation of borderline personality disorder, without a doubt.

At this point, I don’t blame anyone. I don’t blame myself. I used to write relationship stories, where the relationship falls through, and the main characters go their separate ways. Because that’s pretty much how my life has worked out, thus far. I’ve been in countless relationships. By the end of 2021, I realized that, I needed to take a break from dating. I knew enough by 2021 about myself that, if I didn’t make radical changes within, any relationship was doomed to fail.

The shitty part is, even now in March of 2023, I feel that, it may not be possible to make these radical changes within. Sadly, I cannot remove my personality disorder. I can’t repair my damaged brain. It’s literally impossible to change those major facts about who I am as a person.

Also shitty that I’m a man. By that I mean, society still deems me the bread winner. Which is fucking stupid, but- it is what it is. This is shitty because I may never win serious bread, aka, money. In fact, my neuro psych said to me once, “you need to see yourself as someone who’s retired”. He meant that, I needed to see myself as someone who didn’t have to consider getting a job, even part time. Why, you ask? Because, as I’ve said several times before, I was deemed mentally incompetent to hold and maintain even a regular part time job in the American workforce industry.

Lost that money, don’t need to get into specifics. May never get that money back. Again, super shitty.

The most fucked up part about this? People don’t understand mental illness. Most people want to be sympathetic, but they have no fucking frame of reference unless either they themselves are mentally ill, or a close family member (mom, dad, son, daughter, brother or sister) is mentally ill. Otherwise, people don’t fucking get it.

They chalk it up to immaturity, childish behavior. On the surface, yes- that’s exactly how it comes across. But it’s deeper than that, for people who suffer from a severe mental illness. It’s not a fucking choice, sometimes. Especially with a personality disorder, jeez, good fucking luck. It took me ten years to obtain my bachelors degree, BECAUSE of social issues, with my peers. I’ve never been able to hold a job for longer than eight months, BECAUSE of social issues.

Even talking about this until I’m blue in the face, it won’t matter. That again is severely fucked up, for me. Why? Because, I’ll get older, and people will loathe me even more, because I’m an immature childish asshole. That’s how I’ll get tagged. Or, that I’m a potential threat to the safety of myself and others. BECAUSE of the tattoos, in large part. But also because of how I deliver my anger. It’s so genuine and passionate, that, it often scares the shit out of people. Another disservice to myself, which, I do every thing I can to not let that happen.

Without support, without a live-in girlfriend, or wife, it’s really a fucking struggle. This isn’t a call to the single ladies out there. It’s just me saying, this is so much more difficult without a ride or die companion to help me navigate the murky waters of my tormented mind. I don’t blame anyone, because, I realize I am a lot to handle. I might be too much to handle. That hurts, a lot. It’s not my fault, either. I don’t wake up in the morning and say, “today, I’m going to struggle with my identity”. It’s not a choice, do you understand? It’s a fucking curse, is what it is.

I’ll continue onward, like a goddamn cockroach (I think this is also misspelled, but at this point I don’t give a shit, I’m talking about the bug that most everyone despises) who can’t die from nuclear radiation. Oof. What a life. What a life, indeed.

Don’t pity me. You can’t help me from a distance, either- I’ve tried it with many, it never works. Hell, it has yet to work in person, so don’t feel too bad. There must be something, some kind of sanctity I can find. To bring in enough dough to secure my home shelter, take care of my dogs, eat, bathe. If I’m basically destined to be alone, I want to at least make sure I can provide for myself. Because, it’s really possible that no one else will help provide for me, for the rest of my life.

Oh well, I’m going to smoke some cannabis. That always helps.

Philip Webb

Instead, be like, The Sphynx (google says this is how this word is spelled, although it looks wrong-eh, I tried). You know, down in Egypt land.

Wedding Day Massacre by Aron Beauregard has a fictional character named Jinx. What a sick, twisted fictional character that person was. Anyway, read that book if you like Splatterpunk, otherwise kinda known as, extreme horror. Yes, it is extreme. Don’t challenge how extreme it is, unless you’re down with that clown. I mean as a reader. Trust me, Aron writes some of the most disturbed fiction stories I’ve ever read in my entire life of reading, and I’ve been reading books for thirty years now.

Okay, so here’s the point of this post.

I used to bank on probability. The more probable I felt my successes would be, the more I banked on dedicating time to whatever craft it was I felt I would dominate in.

So far this type of thinking has not served me well. It’s lead to arrogance, failure, misery, and solitude. Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy my alone time, but this is some Edmund Dantes shit, going on like five years now. Okay, not that bad of course. Still, I rarely get outside my house. Which, isn’t healthy, I know this much. I guess I cooped myself up because I thought I was awesome enough that I didn’t need to be a part of any community. I’d be a one man team, so to speak.

Here’s the thing. Even Navy SEALS don’t go on solo missions (that I’m aware of at least). Those solo mission individuals, splinter assassins. One man job kinda gig. But, that’s like an aircraft that cannot be detected by radar, kind of. Anyway, I’m not a splinter assassin. I’m not a Navy SEAL either. I’m basically someone who went off the beaten path for a long time.

I begin to see life as a life of possibilities. Which is sort of like saying, maybe yes, maybe no. I’ve mentioned how much I love the word maybe. “Maybe it will happen”, is such a better way of living life than saying, “for sure, that’s gotta happen”. Probability seems too much like expecting shit to happen, to me, at this point. The possibility of anything happening seems to be such an optimistic approach, compared to expecting things to happen.

Because, here’s another cliche catch phrase that I think rings true- “nothing in this life is guaranteed”. Which means, to me, don’t count on it happening. Robert De Niro spoke on this concept, in regards to casting calls for roles he was auditioning for. He mentioned that he began to not have high hopes for getting any part. In fact, he just steady kept going to auditions. He told the reporter that if you don’t expect to get the part, maybe the actor auditioning can then be more free to act in just the right way.

It’s like the idea of, “don’t try so hard”. My dad used to say this to me all the time when I was girl crazy, or women crazy. I wanted to make a relationship work so bad, had all these expectations of what I wanted. That was foolish of me. I was trying way too hard. The best relationships I’ve had, I wasn’t really trying at all. They just sort of manifested in an organic way, between me and the woman I was romantic with.

Don’t try at all. Like I said in my last post, let it rip. Nike tells us, to, “Just Do It”. Even fucking Yoda says, there is no try- do or do not, try doesn’t exist.

If one gig doesn’t work out, it’s possible the perfect gig will arise sometime there after.

I focus on the possibilities. There’s no attachment to the realm of the possible. I love that.

Philip Webb

I see people refrain from being involved.

I don’t mind.

I don’t think or believe I’m better or worse than anyone else.

At the same time, the more I focus on what I want, in regards to writing, the better off I am.

I’ll stay busy creating what I desire.

If people don’t want to give me praise, if people don’t want to work with me, that’s okay. I’ll keep doing my best.

I refuse to hold others accountable for my mistakes, shortcomings, or character defects.

I’m now, at every turn, going to be only accountable for myself.

Which is to say, who am I to judge anyone BUT myself?

I am not. I am not a prophet, a saint, I am not your God, nor am I, nor will I ever be, your higher power.

I’m just a fucking human dude, y’all. I am but a grain of sand in the vast shores. I appreciate you if you enjoy what I do, say, or think (maybe believe), however, I’m more or less writing because it brings me some peace of mind. It helps, it’s nutrition my brain and my heart love and appreciate.

If I can find purpose in healthy outlets, have a variety of healthy outlets, I know I’ll feel even better about myself.

All I want, really, is to have peace of mind. To no longer be a reactionary creature of emotions. I can overcome the demons within, so to speak. The bad habits can be removed, replaced with good, healthy, positive habits.

If you ask, what I think about any of you- I say now, for the records, I wish you the best in your adventures of life. Go get ’em, Tiger. It’s awesome to see people making their dreams reality. I hope this happens for all of you, that your dreams become reality, that you find your own happiness, or peace of mind.

Off to write some sick twisted fiction. Must release the noxious bile. The page is hungry for words.

When I take my own advice I do much better. I mean that it is by work that I will feel fulfilled. I want to write fiction today, in fact, I need to vomit out ideas and words onto the page. I can feel it about to spew from within, onto the page.

As is it today, I have with me all I need to progress on my path in life. I’m ready to move forward.

Make it a pleasant day. Mind, over matter.

The less I focus on other people, the better off I am.

It’s tough, because we live in a society.

I don’t understand it, but, fuck it. I know I can’t change how people see me. Nor do I want to. Because, that’s on people. I’ve been diligent with the time i’ve been given, I’ve been working hard.

Been sober from alcohol for eight days now.

I’m going to continue to focus on good, healthy, habits of growth.

I’m humble, yet I’m proud of myself for choosing the tough path, the path that will be worthwhile for me.

A profound concept I am all about right now in life is wisdom, and knowledge. The more we know about cultures, and the people who are from the cultures they are descendants of, is a good thing. Also, the more we know about ourselves, this is also a good thing.

Resistance, builds strength. To be strong, means, you must endure pain. Resistance against hate, makes us grow in compassion. It’s the paradox. Hate, is the easy path. However, if you follow this path, you will die as miserably as you lived. You will be, a loser.

It’s tough, it’s not easy, to be strong. True strength defends, protects. True strength helps lift those who may not quite be as strong, or, will never be able to be strong.

A strong individuals sees there is no choice- to be a hero for the people, is what matters most.

Pain, blood, sweat, tears. Loss, suffering. It is inevitable, if a person decides to resist the easy road of hate.

Fight against the ego, the selfish ego. It’s going to hurt a lot, being selfless, truly selfless, means forgoing myself, to instead help others.

Gratitude, humility. I’ve been humbled to the ground, the universe broke me. Now, I am grateful to re-build.

This time, I will build an indestructible foundation. I know, as do others, that a rock solid foundation is the basis for everything else that comes after. This is the unmovable rock in the middle of the raging storm idea.

Step by step, brick by brick. I will build. Because, this time, is different. I freely saw a major change was necessary. Sometimes, it’s something so innocuous as a golden ring. But that ring, is the core evil within. I’m of course referring to the one ring to rule them all, from Lord of the Rings. My one ring, that I have to throw into the lava of Mount Doom, is alcohol. Alcohol, is federally legal, for anyone over the age of 21.

Look what alcohol has done to many. It can, and will, destroy a person, because playing with alcohol is like playing with fire.

I’m a cannabis advocate, because I know how it benefits me. However, each of us, unique. We are all human beings, yes- yet, we are all unique. I also know some are similar in their uniqueness, that, cannabis is indeed medicine for these individuals as well. Even so, I’m also an advocate of the phrase, “all things in moderation”. Smoking a massive amount of cannabis, or eating a massive amount of edibles, is unwise. It’s simply unnecessary. Trust me you, I also know the urge to smoke a lot. The illusion is, that if I smoke more cannabis, I’ll feel better. However, I also know this is untrue. I’ll basically numb myself to life, if I smoke too much, which- if any of us do this, what we are abusing is no longer used as medicine. Moderate what you eat, how much you exercise, how much you say versus listening. All things in moderation, I know this is wisdom.

I cannot moderate how much alcohol I consume. I have a disease, where, if I take even one sip of a beer, it’s game over. I lose myself to the poison. Upon that first sip, I lose control. This is why, for me, I abstain from taking even a sip of beer. Zero alcohol consumption is what I must focus on every day. In fact, this is the main thing, each day I live. It’s the only thing I must do each day. I must stay away from alcohol. Every day is indeed, a new day. With each new day, it’s like I’m making that decision to not drink for the first time. The past is irrelevant, in many ways, and the future is not guaranteed. Therefore, each day is a new day. No one day is the same as any other one day. Similar, yes- but different.

Well, now I’m rambling. Haha. See ya next time.

Philip Webb

With my non-fiction work I do my best to show how I evolve as a human being.

Yet, this isn’t enough. Well, I do know the people meant to read my posts do. Even so, I have bigger dreams. This stuff, for now, is child’s play compared to where I know I’ll be soon enough.

Manifest my dreams into reality. Any of us has this potential within. We all start somewhere.

I will become a master of many crafts. It’s time well spent. Jay-Z once said something along the lines of, “if you’re not in this, doing this, to be the best, what are you doing?” Jay-Z let his passion drive him to success. So passionate, doing it, puts out musical albums, and goes beyond what most humans are able to comprehend.

So, this is my sign to write fiction. To write in the shadows, then strike. Publish. The most viable way for me to become who I’ve always been within, my energy, is to work my ass off, put out material on a regular basis.

Mystery, reminds me ambiguity. Not vague, no- better than vague. Ambiguous. Mysterious.

The man of mystery. I also earned that nickname. Think it was kinda stolen from the most interesting man in the world individual, promoting Dos Equis as the only beer worth drinking.

Say just enough. Then disappear. Then, poof. I re-appear.

Philip Webb