Wednesday, May 24, 2006

i just rewrote the first 200 pages of that stupid dave eggers book in three paragraphs

who even knew he was still alive? this is the first thing i say, the first thing, when someone mentions the guy i used to work with at the gas station, or the guy i used to fuck in high school, or the guy i used to fuck four months ago. woah he is still alive? WHO KNEW. and of course he is still alive. he wasn't a meth addict, didn't suffer from terminal illness or a prediliction for drag racing or wicky sticks. except this is my story, life is my story. who knew these minor characters existed outside of it? didn't i create them? who knew that they went on breathing after i discarded them for becoming irrelevant to the plot? next someone is going to tell me that not only have they survived, they have formed new networks of new people that i am not aware of. the audacity of my supporting characters. writing their own stories.

obviously their stories aren't as brilliant as mine. their stories are overpriced novels with shiny covers purchased in airports by middle managers in cheap shoes flying business class. my story has a soft grainy cover, cream colored with black letters, my characters are younger, brighter, more beautiful. we love each other more and hate each other more we scream louder and fuck better and run faster. look at us we are alive. look at them they could never reach this level of intensity. my story is a heartbreaking work of staggering genius.

when i was five years old i drew a picture. blurry dark figures with vermillion centers. people, dancing. dull gray skin with conflagrant hearts. i stopped looking at things this way when it became to much to bear.
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