H.O.N.Y. Rejected

“It must always start with sex or death. Danger, if not death; the threat of sex, if not the act. I’m a real writer you know. Not like these...kids. They spit in the air and aren’t quick enough to make way for the splat. No. I’ve written books. With an ‘S’. A girl inspired the first one. Of course she’s gone now, ungrateful bitch. All muses are false gods, you hear me? The only true inspiration is death. Making sure as many people as possible give a damn when you die. The guy that said all humans are masochists, he’s a liar. All humans are balloons. It’s ego that fills us, fuels us, nothing more. Ego begets art. That’s what it truly is. Don’t give me that look. We write and we consume because we need to feel validated in our pain, in our love, or… Something written, seen, heard feels significant. Permanent. Official. So we can prove that the whatever is a reality, a thing pure enough to mention, proof of its existence. As if our feeling our feelings wasn’t enough. Yeah, yeah, yeah. Go on. Tell me when they post it, will you? I told Marty I’d find you someday. He said I was full of shit. Said you never tell my story. But he’s an idiot. All of them. Idiots.”