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matthew's profile
AGE:
23
LAST LOGIN: September 30
LAST LOGIN: September 30
my life sucks so i write. i look at life differently than others. as in Hegel’s essay about the man on the street i am uncomfortable enough and lack the tact to take anything for granted. though i may not be a brilliant philosopher or poet, this inability to expres the mundane leaves me craving for it and that is what fiction is all about, so i may be a writer out of a flat out necessity. i struggle with my teachers in school, i hate them mostly, i hate all teachers. i am illgocial and spiteful that about sums up my personality.
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Version 1
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Poetry has become too egotistical. Even the professionals suffer the easy way out, or in, and write about whatever the hell they happen to be feeling within the span of 15 minutes or however long it takes to bang out a good 2 pages. Frederick Seidel is the only poet to examine this egoism and to present different facades of himself knowingly and deliberately. It's a game- the ego is a game to him, nothing serious or perilously personal.
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Version 2
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I found a message in a bottle in Coney Island. The message was quite disconcerting. It read: "If you are reading this, I am dead," and it was signed "Jay." I am not a woman and I pictured the ideal recpient to be a certain woman. She would be distraught, she'd show it to her friends and fling herself against the rocks and fall prostrate upon those sexual waters: ebbing and diminishing much like her own love life. I'd pay to see this. But I did no such thing. I took the note out of the bottle ...
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Version 2
1 Review
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Suicide note? Fetch me a sticky note.
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Version 1
0 Reviews
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I found a message in a bottle in Coney Island. The message was quite disconcerting. It read: "If you are reading this, I am dead," and it was signed "Jay." I am not a woman and I pictured the ideal recpient to be a certain woman. She would be distraught, she'd show it to her friends and fling herself against the rocks and fall prostrate into those sexual waters: ebbing and diminishing much like her own love life. I'd pay to see this. But I did no such thing. I took the note out of the bottle ...
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Version 1
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I have been intent on blowing my fuicking brains out, turning this graying head- brains as my hair, gray matter overall- into a pinata so I can wake the neighbors. But i have yet to finish the note. I figure it'll take me a lifetime to slog through such a gratuitous procedure. Maybe I'll get me some incentive. I don't want to end up in hell for scattering my brains, anyway. I need to graduate from college first. I'll kill myself soon, just you wait and see. That's all the incentive I need. As...
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