Earlier this year, I wrote to a magazine that I like to pitch an article about Lydia Tomkiw, post-punk absudist poet and singer for the band Algebra Suicide. I had done some writing and research for the piece, but hadn’t got too far.
*Warm, crackling fire*
I cried tonight because of David Foster Wallace’s suicide in 2008.
Be born; the simple act of living is supposed to have a meaning that we spend literal lifetimes trying to discover, so try that.
The “You’re Not That Special” Disclaimer: This could be about you, and only you, but let’s just say that it’s not. Like the lovely genre of non-fiction, “You” are a blend of memories and experiences, maybe sorta kinda all blended into one person. And these kinds of characteristics mentioned in the below passage reflect that.
The utter melancholy and bitterness that my existence had come to me sitting in a room full of pretty pink flowers and waiting for a boy to call.