Every couple of months I ask myself if it's worth it to put myself out there as a
writer. To weed through those GOOD JOBS that might as well be punches to the throat
and find the one or two people who I have helped make truly happier, or inspired, or more
than they were before. Am I a dick for not wanting GOOD JOB? I did a good job.
Shouldn't I want GOOD JOB? Am I an asshole for not wanting the well wishes of
some stupid teenager who had their life saved when they were totally going to kill
themselves by an errant Pink song on their radio?
No. I'm not. "Everyone is equal" but I'm better than you.
I'm trying to be constructive. I'm looking at my brain and saying,
"Okay, what can you do next?" "You already know everything about
cartoons and wrestling, why not learn about birds?" Why don't you learn about
the clouds. Why don't you learn about the ocean. It's all right there.
It's right there for you to learn and you forsake it, you bastards. You waste
your lives. I fuck up, but I'm moving forward. I am looking at a comic book
cover and saying "look at what is funny about this."
Because you know what? If I didn't do that, you wouldn't have ever noticed.