Come and see!

Long have I thought about how to write from this attic in a language that's not mine. Well, the answer seems quite simple, just get a pen, a piece o'paper and let everything flow. Straight from soul to finger, all of a sudden. And fuck the others' rules, their majesties' grammar.

So here I am, getting undressed before you, behind this folding screen that only does but reinforce the sensuality of the whole thing. And you're there, staring at me, scrutinizing the very forms of my body which is my soul with your harming eyes and your bleeding pens.

I'm sorry if the music is too loud, but I like it like that. It's one of the few other things I can do to fight this world from up here. And it's a nice way of being proud of something you haven't done. A bit miserable, though. But why do you dare to look at me like that when it's your guns that are clogged up?

You think you've listened to me enough. You think you've paid enough attention to the paintings on the wall. You think you've loved me enough, and that you've hated me too much. You think you've been sympathetic enough with my writings. Now please stand up and go towards my desktop. If you open the third drawer on your right, you will find a Colt 45. Now you already know what needs to be done. Thankyou for coming.