#anonymouswriter

To whom it may concern,

Greetings! I am Anonymous Writer, but anyone who’s interested in my blog can call me Kaveh/Kav or Rolls, whichever you prefer; I use any pronouns.

I am a being of nigh pure anonymity, so have fun figuring out anything about me unless I tell you.

As I stated before, I am a writer, I write things, be it by request or simply because I want to.

I will primarily write for the following fandoms (without request):

- Cookie Run

- Any of the four main Hoyoverse games

- The two main Kurogames games

- Sky: Children of the Light

- Splatoon

- Cult of the Lamb

Thought I don’t write for these, some of my other interests include:

- A Hat in Time

- Reverse 1999

- Subnautica

- Tomodachi Life

- Omniscient Reader’s Viewpoint

- The World After the Fall

- SSS-Class Revival Hunter

- Lout of the Count’s Family

- Illusion Hunter From Another World

- Got Dropped in a Ghost Story, Still Gotta Work

- Rain World

- Hollow Knight (Silksong included)

- The Binding of Isaac

- Risk of Rain

Any others not listed are simply because they are not my primary interests.

As for my request list, anything not morally and/or objectively wrong is fair game.

Below are the tags I use:

#AsksforKav - My ask tag, I’d use #asksforanon if it didn’t conflict with already existing tags.

#KavWrites - My writing tag, won’t use #anonwrites for same reason as previous tag.

I am not me

I am just petals scattered to be

Whoever finds my letters,

Family. The most basic form of relationships we learn about as kids. They can be both good and bad depending on families; though I feel that my personality isn’t the same as mine. I show these letters and his face shows his misunderstanding and disinterest. Why I prefer anonymity above recognition, why I prefer I write to neither a person nor a crowd. That just proves that he is neither the person nor crowd that I am writing to.

If I could, I would be the famous writer that tackles social stigma and government, favoring the pen rather than the sword. But to sign my name would be harder for me than bearing my soul through audible words and physical actions. Through my anonymity I gain power, power I wish to have with my family.

To be the blackest of sheep is an understatement. I share physical and mental traits with my father, but my increasing age continues to show a furthering from his gene pool. If he would see these letters he would share the same disinterest as my brother. I could care less that he shows any interest, for he will never truly know why I write what I write.

To my mother, I’m greyer than to my other family members. But, the same can still be said about her with regards to my writing as my brother and father.

Though I would go to war for my family, if I were to die in a firefight they would never truly know me as like others. I do wish that statement were false, it is the only true statement that I wish to be false.

Forever the Blackest of Sheep,

To Whomever will read my letters,

Many things leave stains. Cigarettes and coffee satin my teeth, mud stains my pants, and amazing dreams leave stains that are embarrassing to be discovered at the dry cleaners with.

Friends leave stains.

Loved ones leave stains.

Dogs leave stains.

These stains are both interesting and disgusting. Each one has a story and a lesson learned. But it’s the stain of the people closest that are the ones that impact us on personal levels. I personally have more stains than a cheap whore’s sheet, and the people that I hold closest share that quality.

One in particular is one that I strain to call a friend. We more or less are drawn together by our mutual hatred, as well as an informational standoff. In public is where we show colors of dark complexion, But in late night conversation we are a little lighter. I’m forever in debt to him, as a friend and a therapist, and he to me. Mostly because of the emotional baggage we lump onto each other.

The inside humor is that of the baggage we share to each other, and that’s why we continue to show darker colors, as we continue to sharing the problem of our lighter selves.

Our stains keep filling our sheets, and our friendship grows closer the more we share the stories of the stains.

To whom may find my letters,

In a country claiming to be free, and everyone has a say on what happens in the country, I couldn’t feel more helpless. For most of my life I’ve been under tyranny of parents and schooling. The idea of a self-impact on my own life was lost as the first bell is wrung and a Hitler like speech is repeated to me over a PA system, and learning is steered without an input from me. The days are filled with daydreams of seclusion on a beach, with rum and not a rainy day for years. The soothing sound of music I don’t understand, and waves dancing a few feet from where I sit to write, as the night moves around me as if I wasn’t there at all. A freedom from pressure and government, the only interaction is from the kid at a liquor store where I get more “supplies”. These dreams are what they really are, dreams. For in a modern world it is sacrilege to want for yourself what you really want. The dreams you’re feed are for production and forward movement, to be a model employee for someone who had it better to you did, and were force fed their own dreams. To be separate from government and overbearing bosses is anarchist propaganda, and freedom from one tyranny is entrance into another tyrannical being.

I don’t sing my name, because through my anonymity I have the courage to ramble. I hope that one will sign their own to challenge these thoughts that aren’t our own. That their own courage will surpass mine, and the crowd will follow them, and give their thought fame so that I can continue to cower behind my paper and pencil, and continuing to favor an anonymous persona.

Then soon the feeling of salt will be on face and music in my ears; so that I will find freedom on the beach, away from the rest of the world beneath my feet.

To whom may find my letters,

In a country claiming to be free, and everyone has a say on what happens in the country, I couldn’t feel more helpless. For most of my life I’ve been under tyranny of parents and schooling. The idea of a self-impact on my own life was lost as the first bell is wrung and a Hitler like speech is repeated to me over a PA system, and learning is steered without an input from me. The days are filled with daydreams of seclusion on a beach, with rum and not a rainy day for years. The soothing sound of music I don’t understand, and waves dancing a few feet from where I sit to write, as the night moves around me as if I wasn’t there at all. A freedom from pressure and government, the only interaction is from the kid at a liquor store where I get more “supplies”. These dreams are what they really are, dreams. For in a modern world it is sacrilege to want for yourself what you really want. The dreams you’re feed are for production and forward movement, to be a model employee for someone who had it better to you did, and were force fed their own dreams. To be separate from government and overbearing bosses is anarchist propaganda, and freedom from one tyranny is entrance into another tyrannical being.

I don’t sing my name, because through my anonymity I have the courage to ramble. I hope that one will sign their own to challenge these thoughts that aren’t our own. That their own courage will surpass mine, and the crowd will follow them, and give their thought fame so that I can continue to cower behind my paper and pencil, and continuing to favor an anonymous persona.

Then soon the feeling of salt will be on face and music in my ears; so that I will find freedom on the beach, away from the rest of the world beneath my feet.