Existential Paradox Art in Route to the West

I acquired a collection of fibers that would grant me flight to the wonderful land of disillusion. I had never misplaced my time in such areas, so I allowed such transitions to occur. The first obstruction that presented itself to me was the fact that my documentation of such travels began its first two sentences with the letter “I”. From an existential mind this would have no serious threats to me, for it was “I” who put them there and it was “I” who decided to so abruptly say, “fuck you grammar, this is my essay and if ‘I’ want to start my essay with ‘I’ twice, then ‘I’ am going to do it!” The inherent problem with this is that I hate existentialism, and also hate it when documentations or publications of any form contain repetitive words. After that rant, and the one about to be mentioned, I have placed what looks like the first Roman numeral in my spewings eleven times. My concerns with such egotistical implications, is that when attempting to describe a simple trip to Hollywood to see Chris Mars’ new gallery, long winded tangents of referring to oneself have bored or frightened about forty to fifty-six percent of the readers off. Jarid (as to avoid anymore “I” problems Jarid has decided to switch to the third person) apologizes for such horrid actions and will now continue with what he intended on writing about (that being an overly wordy pretentious surreal documentation of a trip to Hollywood).
Jarid ventured fourth into the perturbed sea of fast alloys and inconsideration. His aspirations whispered sweet nothings into his ears as he attempted to not end the pulse of himself or those around him. A giant sleek metal bird awaited him, set to leave the crust in two collections of sixty minutes. Upon arrival to the nest of said birds, Jarid climbed through an artificial gash placed on the side of the bird in order to prepare for such leaps of space. All too soon, the pungent odors of fame and wasted papered scripts would be writhing throughout his body, and the sad sorry fool did not even see it coming. Jarid soon realized that the flight had not even taken off and he had rambled on for more than a page now, and aimed to repair such atrocious acts on his part. The flight made it to Hollywood safely, he was unsettled by all the crazy people in Hollywood, he saw Chris Mars’ gallery, and then he went home, the end.
While reading literary collections on art, one can notice the immense forests of words one must venture through to arrive at a coherent story. To some this could be considered an enjoyable process, while to others an inefficient waste of time and paper. But what of those writings that contain both the forest and the straight forward? Obviously it is a completely original idea that has never been done before and the brilliant author of such creations should be praised for his genius and giving high markings on his works. Or, he could be scolded for switching viewpoints mid-essay and claiming to do something original in a trite stale world where everything has been done before rendering himself a stuck up liar. He shall leave these conclusions up to you. Good luck.