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I have notions about myself which you may find ridiculous, but I donít think you should dismiss them out of hand. For instance, my spontaneity is personality-critical for me. I just stand up and go for it. Thatís who I am and how I see myself. Now you may notice me sitting around in my underwear watching daytime TV, but what you see is but the shadow of my spirit which can be crudely projected against this dull apartment of yours. I exist on a higher plane, and you shouldnít just assume, because I drank the last of your beer, that Iím some kind of beer drinking guy who just mopes around. I recall my childhood, and still dream of a late night drive down the strip of some three point five horse town. Iím curled up in the back seat as it starts to rain, watching the reflection of a yellow neon sign race across a wet black windshield. Tail lights bleared across the sky. Street lamps looming to the horizon. There is a humanity in all of this. A lost innocence which has no place in the same conversation as a discussion of what happened to your stamp collection or did I mail some letters. And thatís why Iíve come to you with my decision. I have decided to become god. Not God with a capital G, thatís absurd. Although, I should point out, not just a god, but ďgodĒ, singular, the only god. Thatís right, I am going to become the one and only god, but with a lower case g and Iím keeping my maiden name, at least for paperwork. But I need your support on this. I know you wanted to ask me about the clogged toilet and the turd in the sink, but now is a time for quiet revelation. Where moonbeams dare dance a distant poignancy. Here walks a brutal soldier, deemed wise enough to encamp the night. And there among the padded way strides a prophet, whose bold predictions describe my greatness. And it is written, or will be, if you let me log on to your laptop.
Date Written: September 26, 2005
Author: Ewan Snow
Average Vote: 4.5