how should a person be what we talk about when we talk about being?

There are days when I desperately want to accomplish something. Don't you feel it? That sense of persistence to your time? Of needing to follow through? I guess the best way to describe it would be the impulse to say, There – here I am. Everyone wants to thought useful, especially by themselves (or at least noted, in and of the world, as if life had some kind of accounting).

Or perhaps not. Some people would like it both ways – sparkly and celebrated but still authentically blackened and gutterized. I made this thing and it is significant and worthy of treasure (or at least question marks) 
but full-page photos in the New Yorker are meaningless to me because my many friends are filthy magic and all the rest is shit. To pull this off properly you need an instinct for back-alley photography (or an Instagram account, or the ability to write in a circular manner about self-abasement), bone-poking thinness, a good scowl and some very straight bangs. Apparently, the future of literature is about staring away from things.

What's next (or rather, How Should A Person Do What's Next?), for the rest of us who have no clue? Follow the sound of clapping, I guess. It's off somewhere in the twees.

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