Any Other Way Than Down

You're probably wondering just how to take this bloated, colossus piece of interspersed stories riddled with errors both grammatical and thematical. That's alright. I understand the confusion. This novel is a multimedia endeavor from an emphatic love affair with art and the humanities devouring books on construction sites in between dread-inducing hard-labor gigs (he foolishly chose as a job at the A all the puzzling conundrums of the author's own life as he tries to look back through the untrustworthy but alluring chrysalis of memory stained by tethers of time. Every story is in a terminally liminal stage. I insist on involving myself in every aspect of my creative endeavors
Then again, I've also been instructed by innumerable thinkers and artists long dead. I went to the And though some are still alive they remain mostly unreachable so let this novel be a hymn to the long dead buried and the sum of this culture as I live it in this very moment no matter how asinine and revolting it might be, I want to know all about it. In a way, this book is co-written by all of you. In that sense don't expect a dogmatic appeal to one ordained view of life whether it's religious propaganda covertly snuck in or even an open-minded free-spirited ideology I've happened to adopt over the years.
As I change as a person over the years so does my artistic output and whatever form it decidedly takes. Inspiration strikes anywhere. From my love of sundry genres of music from indie-folk bands to classical ensembles to the curious baristas I've engaged with philosophical questions with to even the quotidian crossing of paths and intertwining even just a minute of overheard conversations in brief interims in France, Spain, Belgium, Sweden, or Iceland; all of me is mystified by human beings everywhere and I long not only to observe and write about them but to be among them and to proudly call myself one among many. With that notion, I make my peace or at least have come my closest to it.