Hurling Pixels is the rale of a middle-aged underachiever with a chip on his shoulder. An excuse to feign importance and do everything from lament to spit vitriol – mostly in the form of song. Sometimes I point cameras at things and stab eyeballs with words. It exists for pretense and posterity.
I have floated through the first phase of my adult life with blinding conformity and misappropriated servitude. But I've had a dance lesson with Death, and there's nothing like the susurration of one's demise to trigger a precipitous change in attitude.
So welcome to my self-directed suffering – where my existence is my rebellion; my work a proverbial "fuck you" to the never-ending silence that envelops this temporal habitat. In the face of abysmal pointlessness, it's foolishness from here on out and a few more stupid songs.
For a deeper dive, see this post.