My friend Andrey once told me to never stop writing. No matter how awful and how shitty and how terribly ridiculous or fucking stupid or poorly-written, Never stop writing. He told me it'll all make sense one day. He told me it all matters. Blindly and profoundly, he believed in my art the way I did with his. I think about it when I'm sitting staring at the wall. I tell myself, "I have to write. God it'll be shitty, but I have to write."
Bukowski once told me, "if you have to sit for hours staring at your computer screen or hunched over your typewriter searching for words, don't do it." That's when I'd sit staring at the wall.
These are the two few that made any sense to me. These two vulgar and insane people. You can easily loathe the people they want you to see. But they know some hideous truth that lets me find exactly what I'm looking for.
I am either to fear or not fear death. But I am to never fear anything I must write. Death will come for me, along with the words I've chosen.
[scratches of paper from a cigar box]
