I don’t know why I write, it’s not as if I’m rehearsing these last 29.5 years for some grand entrance on Broadway, I think it’s even pretentious to try and write your life’s story if nobody knows who you are, what’s the value in that? But I write to cleanse, I write because it triggers something in my which I haven’t quite found out yet. Will I be the next Henry David Thoreau or Mya Angelou, probably not even in my wildest dreams, but it doesn’t mean that I can’t try to express myself in really the only way I know how. As of late I’ve had a lot of time on my hands and idle hands, idle mind…you get the picture but I’ve found far more productive ways of using my time and energy than just sitting at a poker table, wondering why the fat white guy next to me keeps eye fucking me, while all the while I keep eye-denying him, it’s amazing.
I write as a means to connect with others, I write as a means to connect with myself. Somehow the things I think usually make more sense once its written. Once i can really see it for what it is, not the concept that rattles around in my head.
Nonsense.
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