Saturday, October 10, 2009

Because Maybe Dead Writers Have Internet Access

Dear Hemingway, 
Our short-lived love affair has possibly run its course. You're an asshole and I'm so over you. 
Good luck in the future. 
Best Regards. 

Thank You KM

I am not quite sure of exactly what I am afraid of. I believe it's difficult to pin down because it's more of a concept than a physical entity. Sometimes it makes me cry, but more often than not, it makes me remove myself from the world because I don't want others to know I feel this way. And the absurd part is that I have no idea what feeling "this way" means exactly. I do know what I like, however. I like words and how they are strung together. I like structure that moves beyond individual words and their connections to their layers and foundation that they build to eventually come to be some beautiful structure-- beautiful in its strength. My thoughts are too jumbled right now and although I would love to place them on this page (or in this virtual place-- I'm still in the dark ages and quite confused by modern technology), I have to go run down Lexington Avenue as quickly as I possibly can in order to calm my brain and organize my thoughts. Before I walk away I do have to thank this lovely someone who inspired me to do this. You may not know it, but you challenge me and impress me and teach me so much about the world without even trying. Thank you.