so why
so why are you reading all this shit anyway. did i give it to you telling you it was the story of my life.
dont worry, i do that to a lot of people. maybe youre reading this now and its been published
somewhere. and you have no clue who i am. maybe youre dying to know who i am. maybe you dont
give a shit. are you getting anything out of reading this book. i mean, after all, dont you think i wrote it
for people to get stuff out of it. i write it for others after all. yeah, i do write it for myself to. like i said
so long ago, to remember
the things that happen. when i am no longer who i am now. dont worry. im just being antagonistic
toward you because im in that kind of mood. i feel like being very confrontational right now. i want
you to think about who gave you this book. did i give it to you. did someone else. who else. was it
someone you care about deeply. or some homeless person on the street trying to make a buck for a
forty. was it your parents. or did you just happen to wander into a bookstore somewhere. your eye
just happening to settle on the cover. maybe i left a copy in an old apartment i used to live in. or
someone else left their copy in an old apartment they used to live in. maybe its some time from now
and i became another person who committed suicide. lonely on the streets. and you're the coroner
who happened to be going through my pockets and decided to read it. maybe. maybe. just why are
you reading it? do you think its good? sometimes i think its good. sometimes i think i should cut out a
lot of the pointless stuff. but then again you never know where someone will find enjoyment.
enlightenment. you never know if just one paragraph that i thought completely sucked, but was too
tired to take out. if that paragraph will inspire a person to become someone great. so thats why i keep
everything in here. if youve been wondering. of course, you never know. if i ever get this published,
they might tell me to cut here and there and there. and i might be broke and you might never be
reading this because the editor thought this section just didnt belong in the book. you never know,
now do you. well i guess you know. i dont. funny that. the reader knowing something about a book
that the writer could never even imagine. like that concept lucas and angela and i were talking about
in the cafe the other night. about how art is not in the artist or the viewer, but on some plane in
between. that intersection that creates the line of reality. ah, who cares. go on reading. i hope you do
get something out of it. after all, that was why it was written.
muse@musespace.com