the juicer that only makes apple juice

O! isn't he a wonderful writer? Look at the way he pads his words layer after layer as though he's making cake! Look at the way he writes without verbs! Look at the way he reads his own writing, become so engaged, so indulged in his own words that he's left his Word document open when he should be clicking 'print'! Look at the way he looks at himself. I love his complete self-consciousness. It's so attractive.

Dear me. Would you like to read this book? I would like to lend you this book. Yes, please read it, when you have time. I like Katherine Mansfield lots because she wrote these playful stories while she was dying. I hope you'll like these stories.

O! there he is again. His fingers are tapping the keys more slowly than usual. Wonder what the matter is. He is thinking. Yes, I can see it. He is thinking. That's not good. He writes best when he doesn't think. He sings best when he sings like no one's listening. But now, his fingers are treading the keyboard so slowly as if there was a dark hole somewhere on the keyboard that might swallow up his fingers, his hands, his body. But you can't swallow my soul! He says to the dark hole. How arrogant. The writer, I mean. How arrogant.

He is totally in his own world. But not really, because his world is part of this world, it's part of everybody's world. But he thinks he is in his own world. How can one say he is in his own world when everyone in the existing world sees him walking and breathing the air of their regular world? And how can one being in his own world say he is in his own world for if he was really in his own world, his utterance would not be heard! A passer-by looks at him and sees right through him. But still, he insists, I am in my own world!

Maybe I'm just a little funny-minded this morning. Maybe I'm just escaping from my pile of tasks. Maybe I should stop writing and go eat an apple. Maybe this is all just too weird and if I do this so much I wonder, I wonder, I wonder if I become hurt so badly one day that others cannot understand me, which is fine, but what bothers me more is if I cannot understand them. And so I say this, but really, I know how I'd end up saying to them, "No need to understand, just experience and feel it for what it is." And then they become so frustrated.

Stop this voice. Stop this voice. Stop this voice. Stop this voice. Stop this voice. Stop. I am bleeding profusely.

She doesn't like you. You are too fuckin' weird. You don't look it but you are. You are scaring the hell out of her. But somewhere in the back, in the remote corner of a dark-bright room, a girl sitting on a tiny chair says, "I find that mightily attractive."