Entry 007 - Dropping the Ball
To those of you reading this—and I doubt there’s more than one or two—I’ve dropped the ball. The Razor Hill Project is my dream, and yet most days I can barely scratch a line on paper. Deadlines missed, schedule fucked. I’m at a crossroads.
Truth is, I’m done feeding the social media machine. It’s clear I won’t find you there anyway. The algorithms don’t know the taste of blood. So what’s left? I won’t let this die. That’s why I’m here, tapping out words while my laptop twitches, begging for an update like a junkie. I’ve gone back to pen and paper—less needy, more honest.
The New Taste belongs to the streets. The walls, the hands, the hungry eyes. Social media’s choking on its own censorship, its owners bleeding politics into every pixel. Razor Hill will live where the pavement cracks. This blog and my site will be the only real door into the Project for now. Freeze Dried Meat will keep dripping on Ko-Fi until I find a flesh-and-blood solution.
If you’re reading this, you’re already one of us. The New Taste. An art movement clawing its way into being. Email me if you accept the title—I’ll figure out the rest as we go. Stay strong, stay hungry. The Razor Hill Project isn’t dying—it hasn’t even begun.
See you on the flip side. With much love, BAG! 🪰💀💋