Sunday, December 12, 2004


Look, I never asked to be remarkable or singular or even particularly attractive. I never asked to be recognizable or loaded or that guy who every man shields the eyes of his girlfriend from. I once wished to be better, that’s it. Not better than you, not better than everybody else, just better than I was. Perhaps I underestimated how good I was to begin with. Sometimes it’s difficult to assess one’s own greatness. It’s the whole Quantum Mechanics dilemma: when I look into a mirror, my looking necessarily distorts what I see. And apparently it makes me think a great deal less of myself than I actually should. So it was virtually impossible for me know, prior to having entered the world at large, how great I was. And I made a wish. And that wish was to be better than I was, which evidently was pretty darn fantastic. I hope you won’t hold me accountable for how things have turned out—the fame, the regard, my face in all the magazines. It was truly unintentional. And I can understand if you think a balance must be struck. I am prepared to make a new wish; to be less great, to be worse. I will wish to be a little less than what I presently am. Will that suffice? Will that make you happy? Will that finally cancel out all your envy and rage, you petty, insignificant little fuck?

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