Exhibit 2, written - once again - at work
Tuesday, May. 24, 2005 - 21:18

I'll do what I do but I don't want to talk about it or analyze it or come up with fluffy labels or genres or descriptions or definitions or ANYTHING. The blah blah blah of all that bullshit is just STUPID. You can say whatever the fuck you want - that doesn't mean it's TRUE. But the problem is once you say something everyone believes you, or they pretend they do, and there's so much stupid bullshit all over the place already - don't add any on my behalf thank you very much. I do not offer fascinating glimpses into the psyches of high-functioning autistics - that's hilarious, but it's just a story about an annoying girl.

Of course there's more to it than that - there's more to everything, people are infinite, and I'd never want someone to think they can get away with slapping a label - however pretty - on me or anything I do - yes maybe because I am too immature to deal with it but also because of all the bullshit stuff I just talked about.

Don't talk about doing something - shut up and do it.

People are liars and they know it. Me, I'm always acting and I'm never genuine. I always have an ulterior motive. I never write honestly, it's always wrapped in bullshit.

Do you want to know what I really care about? I'm a pig and my legs are sausages - I'm a pork sausage, and I lie about it and pretend I'm not.

Also I'm vain, terribly vain! But if I ever became rational about it I wouldn't have anything entertaining left to say.

I write to entertain myself, and you along the way.

There's the thing about Lucy playing the piano, I think I already quoted it - no I didn't, here it is:

"Once, you know, I said that I liked my own playing better than any one's. She has never got over it. Of course, I didn't mean that I played well; I only meant -- "

"Of course," said he, wondering why she bothered to explain.

(I could be obscure and obstinate and not tell you that's from A Room With A View, but I'm always accessible and acquiescing. It's from A Room With A View - now THAT'S a good book, THAT'S what I call good literature.)

(That was also an obscure allusion to Pride And Prejudice, if not the book (because I read it a long time ago and can't remember it) then the BBC production starring Colin Firth and Smiley Face.)

Just watch me - in two months I bet I'll be spouting off about the Craft and my Art - I've already started with the "Art" - In two months I'll be getting up at 6:15 to write for two hours and thirty-five minutes every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, and then I will go sit in a corner for 15 minutes to drink tea, and then I will write for three more hours and then I will go to the store and I will be "seeing" an older man who wears turtlenecks and thinks he knows Latin. I will talk about "my novel". I will be old and boring and gooey. I will never play the trumpet again.

Where's a rock, I want to throw it at a window.

See? Even when I'm trying to be relevatory I can't be, I exaggerate for entertainment. I'll never get up at 6:15. I'm too lazy, even if I'm awake then.

(This morning I got up at 6:30, and most of last summer I got up at 5:00. I lie even when I'm confessing.)

But I'm afraid I'll want to do that, I will want to be gooey. I don't want to be gooey!

I'm really looking forward to Stephen Malkmus tonight. [Ed. note: Stephen Malkmus was good, I needed some music.]

There's a grease stain on my shirt, probably from melted butter dripping off my pigchin onto my shirt.

I think my chin is becoming its own entity - pointy you know. I've never had a pointy chin, what's going on?

"In order to save rock they had to destroy it first" - What does that mean? Jesus!