ahh, it’s nice to see you again. i just wrote and posted a new story, wallpaper flowers. i like it. it’s the most honest thing i’ve written in a while.

someone asked me a question the other day (it may have been myself). they asked who i was writing stories for. firstly, i answered, “for myself,” then, “for the small group of people who might read them, or who stumble upon them when searching for porn.” i had to reiterate to myself, or…to that person, that i had no illusions of becoming famous, even gaining cult fame, during or after my life, though, if it were to happen, it would most likely happen once my body has been deteriorating for some amount of time. and even then, probably only if i die before the age of thirty five, and even then, probably only if i die by some freak occurance of nature. you see, for anyone, odds are simply stacked up against them. it’s all going to erupt in a ball of fire anyway. does it really matter?

“But when I hear other kinds of discussion, especially the talk of rich businessmen like you, I get bored and feel sorry for you and your friends, because you think you’re doing something important, when you’re not. Perhaps you regard me as a failure, and I think you’re right. But I don’t think you’re a failure, I know you are.”

-The Symposium, Plato