Go on.

Go on.
Write shit. Sure you're crap at it. You're crap at it and I'm crap at it and he's crap at it and she's crap at it and we're crap at it and they're crap at it.
So who the fuck's to judge?
Who's to play sanctimony with whatever endeavours you have in mind?
Good writers have bad days and write crap too.  So we can't run to them for our doses of flagellation. It wouldn't be fair to the pomp of their tarnished and tenuous celebritydom, much less our pursuit of their thrones, would it?
Just write shit.
Or play shit.
Pick up a guitar, a banjo, bag-fucking-pipes, spoons, a tambourine, an ocarina, an accordion or just get together with friends and harmonise. Badly, if needs be but try it.  You'll like it.
Make sounds.
With the recent death of Bowie, I see in the news that he thought Coldplay were shit.
But that's not the truth, is it?
The initial reports were that they wanted to collaborate with Bowie but he said the song wasn't that good.
Within hours it all went from a song that wasn't so good to Coldplay are shit.
See what I'm saying here?
Sanctimony.  From cunts who really ought to know better.
And I'm no fan of Coldplay.  They seem decent enough but they're music gives me one massive Mister Softy.
And just to stab the ghost of the sacred cow with a blunt butter knife, let's be honest.  Bowie had some terrible shit down through the years.  But in all fairness, he DID have a career spanning fifty years so all's forgiven, Aladdin.  Please come home soon.
Or go on.
Get out and exercise, if that's your bag.
After all you're not hurting anyone but yourself so go for it.
Even I'VE joined a gym.
And the real heartbreak is I kind of enjoy it.
By the time I get home, I'm too tired for the usual waves of everyday neuroses and bouts of overthinking about nothing in particular to haunt me.
So even I have to tell myself to go on.
Go on.
Stop wasting your time reading this filth and gibberish.
Go and live, my friend.
It's much harder
but a whole lot more fun.

Go on...