I care nothing for how others see me. I am extracting my suffering and laying it bare. Write! Offensive bile, mundane rubbish, write fictions and factoids... but write! Write truths, what you consider to be truths. I'm sickened by symbols, by common sense, by received wisdom. All of it is liable to be reversed.
Write even if you can't write. Above all, complain. Complain and cry from your core. It's liberating. Disgorge, hold nothing back. Write love letters. Look at everything and discard freely what does not appeal to you.
On politics i know one thing: The "there is no alternative" people are wrong. Haunt your loved ones, be full of bile even if it's counter productive. Find what you're sure of and stick fast to it. Don't deny your negativity and jealousy, instead, ride them like beasts, feel their power and glory. It's not masochistic either, to hell with masochism. There is a transcendence in it, in accepting poverty, sickness, violence, all the negative emotions; there's a synthetic end, a conclusion, a get-out-clause, an escape which partakes of their violence and intensity. For every backward action there's an equal and opposite forward action. Drop self-consciousness except where it seems apt.