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Depending on when you catch me, I am the single most interesting, or single most boring person you will ever meet. I’ve had an unconventional life. I often get the feeling I’m trapped at the middle of a tornado - there’s a flurry of activity all around me, but it rarely catches me. I write and read. I offer criticisms for other people’s writings. I have a fairly exclusive setup with another boy in the proof-reading and editing of his work. As of November 2008, I will have published my first (official) book with Joseph O’Brien, entitled The Chewy Cerebrum and other stories. I have invested rather a lot of money in this book, and I expect no return on this investment. I am middle-class, white, and of a fairly high academic intelligence. I believe that I am superior in the knowledge that man is by his nature inferior. I acknowledge we have massive flaws in our design, and as such take very little seriously nowadays that doesn’t impinge upon my potential comforts. Even those which I do take seriously, I only apply a serious attitude towards, but it’s the attitude of another man. I am a schizophrenic without schizophrenia. A depressive without depression. An advanced retard. I am young - too young. On the other hand, I’m aging too quickly. I have lived a life where everyone around me, regardless of whether they loved or hated me, has fucked me up - either on a major scale or in some small way. This, I don’t mind. At least, not all the time. I deplore volatility, encourage violence. Deplore the torture of animals, believe man should hunt. Understand that I am too physically weak to achieve this ideal, and my society-given lack of physical motivation means I never will. I am unloved, truly. The few friends I have could drift at a moment’s notice. My hetero life-partner cares as and when it suits him. He has a problem, in that he shares my traits. I do not wear retarded make-up, black cloaks, straighten my hair, fasten plasters to my cheek, wear casts on my arms, or apply eyeliner/eyeshadow. This is my emotional outlet. I don’t need pretence to do that. My name is Christopher James Fraser. I crave a more interesting name. You should not, for any reason, no matter how convoluted, read this blog.

Those who have abandoned meaning, but don't wear retarded clothes to prove it. Various dead greats. World leaders. You.