I'm scribbling right now. I'll be scribbling for a long time, and maybe there'll be more to say about everything I scribble than everything I carefully coordinate. If there's nothing to say about it I get to have peace and quiet while people focus on the things I've done rather than the things that I'm doing. If there's everything to say about it... well, that just means by the time you're done talking about it I've lived my whole life already. All my neuroses, my psychology, unedited and insufferable - all of it. I can't fit where you're putting me, but if you want something inspired by me you can trick yourself into thinking you have me. Meanwhile, right now, I'm such an info bomb that I'm like Old Man Henderson's character sheet. I could be anything by this point because I doubt anyone's going to be able to put in the legwork while I'm alive. I talk in riddles that are superimposed upon other riddles. I think my spirit could talk to you through your takeaways. I feel like that's how the supernatural communicates with me, but that's a whole other can of worms. Could be mental illness... could be real.
Meanwhile you can just bask in my ego dissolved into decadence. It's too much to process, so I become you. Everything you decide to engage with speaks to the kind of person you are, almost as much as everything you may have decided to ignore. You'll see yourself in me because you are the scene before your eyes. That doesn't have to be a bad thing. It's what you make of it.
By this point most of you already know how I will die. You are a projected future audience, and most of the future knows how I will die. Personally I'm crossing my fingers that fate picks a funny way for me to die, like that Anal Cunt guitarist guy who fell off of an escalator. It's probably going to be boring though. Ooo, maybe if I spend the rest of my life pretending like I know exactly how I'm going to die like it was given to me like prophesy and then I die of something else it'll be funny... It's probably going to be an overdose though. That'll be pretty boring, but at least the journalists can make a good pun about it - "Overdubs Overdosed" or something like that. But yeah, maybe I deliberately go out of my way on a bad day in the middle of a bad year. I think it'd be a testament to how good I am at chilling out no matter what age I die at by this point. I deal with a lot. Like, it's almost comical how much stuff there is. I'm not unique in that though, but I sure did publicly diarize about a lot of it.
Hey, what if my death turns into a massive conspiracy case? Like I get assassinated and my death is staged as a suicide or something. That, now that would be fucking hilarious. I like pushing buttons, but in all likelihood that whole possibility is gonna mean people are going to dive deep into every nitty gritty detail of how stupid my fuck-up is so that the blame rests solely on me. I'll take it in stride, it's alright. Did they mention the vacated bowels? If you're a future person you should be talking about how much poop there is in my dead body's pants.
Meanwhile there's some future jackass assuming that everything I ever made was to express how sad I am, or that the coolest creative decisions I made were unconscious products of speculated conditions. I've seen what they did to my homeboy Van Gogh. Have you ever thought about the possibility that he just liked using yellow paint? Oh, and there might be jackasses that think that unconscious products of speculated conditions were the coolest creative decisions I ever made, that literally everything was intentional. A super genius Mary Sue with zero faults who coined cool words and predicted the future inerrantly.
In reality, this shit's like jazz. I play a weird note and then the second entrance makes it worthwhile. The fact that I let my fuckup stay after considering all of its implications is a creative decision.
Some shit's it, and some shit's just shit. That goes for all of it.
(Edit: Full disclosure, I'm safe. I'm doing pretty well and that's why I can talk about this stuff in good humor.)