The actual writing takes place until I need it. It’s like gas in the tank. I’m plugging points into my gps and letting jesus take the wheel. There’s a lot that I’ve got going on during the day, and don’t even get me started on the night.

So, put the computer terminal on the floor. Push the monitor back. Stack some new books around it. Move the shelf of dvds defenestrated. Let the wind blow your speakers over. In the end we’re all crashing up against the brick wall of success. So, come clean this time. We all know that you’re nowhere to be found.

You’re not Lynchian, says Jake. Lynch wanted to be a painter. You’re always filling the screen with your own sense of humor. I don’t get it, and a lot of people who do don’t like it. You’re a little more like John Waters, whom I’m not a fan of other than for his finding that one drag queen, Devo.

In other words, your great job idea is a piece of shit.


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