eckhard,

it almost seems as though this is a pointless exercise, knowing as i do that, unless i, like, die, you're probably not going to read this. in fact, now that i think about it, in the event of my death, you are to pretend that i never existed, and tell everybody else to do likewise. all of these words are forfeit, sent back to whatever domain useless, empty gestures are spawned from.

but then again, i notice that people tend to insist on preserving their words. it sort of makes them immortal, doesn't it? everybody wants to be remembered. but see, these are not my words. i'm only borrowing them, putting them together in an order more or less unique to my taste and style, sure, but it remains that these are still not my words. i don't own them. i don't "possess" them. if anything, i suppose, they possess me.

i saw this movie once, never mind which one, and at one point in it someone asks this guy, "where did these words come from? whose words are they?" and the guy answers, laughing slightly, "i don't know, man, i mean...like...would you ask a musician, like...would you ask miles, 'hey, where'd you get that note?'"

my point, if there must be one, is that this whole idea of communication becomes stranger and stranger to me every time i attempt it. even as i'm writing these words, people across the planet are saying them aloud.

can all of us possibly mean it?