'open letter to the universe'

Hello,

I don’t know what else to say. I look back at old photos and can hardly recognize me sometimes. It is like I have continually left the house without my keys. In the distance there are voices screaming. Every act of goodness seems to have a witness to it, and if our want for attention is this overbearing I have no idea where we can put it. I have about three thousand (eight) drafts in my scratchpaddy-dashboard-launchpad area that have not yet been cast out into the world. Nothing will ever be fully formed; there will always be half of a baby toe missing, hairs too bleached, an almost-erased tooth. Or I could go on adding wrinkles and dimes everywhere until the end of time but then all the negative space would cease to be negative and all the scribbles too loud and I don’t know if I like art that messy. Art is allowed to be messy but I don’t have to like it. Oh why all the noise, why all the pulling of me from one end to another? I did not sign up for or purchase a ticket to this carnival. Is the point of writing to judge? Faint distastefulness for myself, now that I am being angsty. There are so many smart people on the Internet and so many stupid people on the Internet and maybe I am one or the other and always always the need to prove oneself. Where is my Walden. I now know where Sierra Leone is on a map and maybe that changes things just a little. I don’t know all the people in the world. What tragedy! Thank fuck. Somewhere between the oceans it is bedtime. Yellow ochre, grey sky. What must it be like to be successful. What must it be like to be so sure. Maybe the aim is to never know the latter.