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My name is X. You’ve heard of X. Brands, the actor? He use to specialize in playing Native Americans. That fucker. He was very realistic and well-respected – I liked him; I’m not trying to cast aspersions! Even if you’ve never heard of X Brands, I’ve stolen his name. Now who’s the fucker?
Of course, I’m very harsh in my dialectic; my languish. Of course! Why not? Angst! Depravity! Deprivity! Tortures of youth, free me and afflict my evil elders! I hate them all! Bourgeois capitalist puppetmasters! Join the Foreign Legion! Sucking parasites! To hell with your armies, you robots! We all have to live up to something, don’t we? Fuck that! Hey, what is this, a preface? That doesn’t fit. No. No, it doesn’t – didn’t you pay good money for this Confessional? Didn’t you work hard for your money? Right! Will you stand for useless blank spaces within and without this? Well, will you? Why, with all the blank endpapers in your library, you could live quite flammably on Skid Row© for a year! I’m no cheater – no thief! Rise up, young working class! Rise up and rise! And this is not to keep you waiting in an aesthetic foyer, to stall for time. Not at all! I’ve been trying to figure out my first Confession. You don’t honestly think I’d plot it all out beforehand, do you? That’s no confessional, that’s a book. But what have I got to tell?
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zineeeeDavid Cotner
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