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<h1 class="title">A real writer</h1>
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<p><span class="line">Sometimes I feel as though I am not a real writer.</span><span class="line"><a href="cereal.html">I don’t smoke</a>. I don’t wake up early but I don’t sleep</span><span class="line">all day either. I find myself increasingly interested</span><span class="line">in dumb luck. Chance: I’ve found two dimes in as many</span><span class="line">days. Does this mean I’ve found twenty lucky pennies?</span><span class="line">I want you to participate. You the reader. You,</span><span class="line">the probabilistic god of my dreams. I’ve been having</span><span class="line"><a href="in-bed.html">strange dreams</a> lately. I don’t remember them but</span><span class="line">they leave impressions. A bare foot. A tunnel</span><span class="line">of hair from her face to mine. A boat stranded</span><span class="line">in a living-room. Something warm. Something like the sun</span><span class="line">through my eyelids. <a href="roughgloves.html">A hand, with all its dead symbology</a>.</span><span class="line"><a href="no-nothing.html">My teeth have fallen out</a>. No, you pulled them out</span><span class="line">with your hands, threw them over your left shoulder</span><span class="line"><a href="i-am.html">like salt</a>, to wish away bad luck. I have something</span><span class="line">to tell you: bad luck follows like a dog. It lets you</span><span class="line">get ahead for a few days, a week, a year. You’ll see,</span><span class="line">it’ll bite your sleeping face when you’re not looking.</span><span class="line">I’ve been dreaming about the future, I know. In my dream</span><span class="line">I am not a writer, <a href="riptide_memory.html">I live in a place with rain</a>. You</span><span class="line">are sunning yourself as you read this, on a beach or</span><span class="line">maybe a desert. Let me move in with you. I can cook</span><span class="line"><a href="when-im-sorry-i.html">or clean</a> or take care of your dog while you’re out.</span><span class="line">I’ll never have to write again. <a href="about-the-author.html">I’ll watch television</a>.</span><span class="line">Do I want to become a writer? Tell me. Should I smoke?</span><span class="line">I can sleep all day in your attic if you want, become</span><span class="line"><a href="love-as-god.html">your god</a>, lose my own, settle to the bottom of the bed</span><span class="line">like a boat in a river, dream about nothing but <a href="leaf.html">furniture</a>.</span></p>
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