I am just a guy who likes to think about terrible things. The fact that the things make beautiful stories sometimes is an added bonus. Like a free paring knife when you buy a filet knife.
I am not overly in awe of any of my capabilities. I can play a mean game of one-bounce, though.
I don't find people I know as interesting as people I know nothing about.
I am a snoop. I took a picture of a note on my neighbor's door the other day. I still have the picture saved.
I am actively engaged in my destruction and bemused at its progress. I do not think I will live to be an old man. But I probably will. Good genes.
Most people have little cubicles in their mind where they store good things and bad things and scary things. I don't have any filing system. It's all just in there together, and man, it's madness sometimes. Still, I taste the IV, a splash of blood in a yellow needle.
I have never owned a microwave. You'd be surprised at the reaction that gets. Kind of an angry judgmental thing. Other people make a much bigger deal out of my lack of microwave than I do. It was never intended to be a statement. Or if you must make it one, it is something simple like: I prefer toasty to chewy...
I know it's weird and you don't get it. I can't explain it to you. I'll try.
You are standing in a thicket of trees beside a small white colonial with green accents. You are smoking a cigarette that you stole. There are a thousand thoughts flitting by your head like swallows. Bats. Always breaking at just the right second. There are stories and pretend people tugging at your clothes and you find them fascinating. You hear lines of dialogue in strange accents. You stare at the gore a bit too long. You find that you can lose yourself in it, totally. It purges. So, you decide to grab at the better stories and accept that they fly a little bit faster. You make a net of recognition big enough to hold the entire world. Then, you introduce yourself to the people and start typing.