maybe I'm not actually meant to enjoy it. maybe it's supposed to feel like someone's reaching inside my head and pulling out eels and bricks and beams of blinding light.
I'm not crazy, you know. all the time I am normal me and I function very well in polite society. but we can't have any of that here.
we can only have the teeth of the dragon forming words which form sentences which in theory do not have to ever end, and we have to do it all under the weight of Borges and the infinite combination of all the letters, which would make whatever I write meaningless.
if 1000 monkeys did write Shakespeare, would it mean less?
and if a computer recombining 26 characters and a handful of punctuation - its task made easier by Microsoft Dictionary, no doubt - can write what I'm writing now, well should I? because this is not for the readers, you know. I get quite enough of them at work and I don't intend to be a slut in my spare time as well. it's for me.