i am going to be a writer. i decided on that yesterday. why not? i ran into half an existential crisis a few days ago. i felt i needed a talent. a person i know claimed she "sketched". mechanical "sketching" she said. and her drawings were portraits. painfully intricate, pedantic, beautiful portraits. where did that come from? i felt envy, jealousy maybe. she was born this way? that triggered a wave of me feeling useless, empty, boring, uncreative. but i so do long to be this mecca of creativity. but you cannot force it..creativity is either there..or is not..so i delved into the depths of my soul, consulted a few friends, and decided..that were I to have one real talent, just one, it would have to be words. I mean certainly not music. nor art. so i will try to use words, twist them, squeeze them together, gut them, poise them, hurl them at whomever would like to read..and keel over with the outcome..be it some literary masterpiece or some stunted meaningless amputated bit of prose..i will try to read..and write everyday. mostly for my own contentment, and then a llittle for an audience, hopefully a forgiving one.