Early on, the emphasis was on DRUNK. Semantically, I know I don't aspire to write. I write. However, I do aspire to be known for my writing. I aspire to be known as an exhibitionist. An emotional-exhibitionist. Disrobed and “streaking thru the quad & down into the gymnasium (Will Ferrel; Old School).” I hold nothing back. I don't shy away from unpleasentness. Actually I'm drawn to it. It's a morbid world we live in. Long after you've read my stories they'll be embedded in your sub-conscious. From time to time without knowing why your amygdala will send a chill down your spine. That'll just be me, in your head, sub-conscious rather, whilst you're not thinking, “dear god at least I'm not that man.” And then you'll tell your loved one what just happened and you'll smile at one another, maybe kiss, and go about your day, happy, joyous, and free. Or maybe my stories won't shock you. Because you're a drunk, just like me. Or rather, you drink, or drank, just like I used to. Maybe you have a god-shaped hole in you. Well then, pull up a fucking seat already.