Feasting in the bad times, makes good writing?

…Ah, to be decedent and uncontrolled. The forces overcome my Will to hold my cravings back. What is this craving but a craving for regress and stagnation? This is the worst kind of personal sin. A personal sin so permeated world-wide with sinners laughing the the face of those that cannot even feed their family. Progress is not defined in terms of technicalities, true progress must be gauged by the greater whole, how it benefits all, not solely by the stick of business and economy. So my quest for healing myself turns into healing the world.

…Kill me now. I do this for my death and resurrection. Fat, fat, sitting in it. Death to my hands it is brought, on a platter of degradation, on a steeple of false beauty, a quiet solitude, desperation is fed, peace to the slothful foes.