Working
furiously. Without distractions or any type of social life. Holed up days at a
time in my sordid little one-room flat in a Mexican slum typing without end. Three hundred and fifty-six pages so far and it is depressing the fuck out of me.
Not bad as in writing or style, but the stories and incidents are excavated
from my personal life. Nothing is more thrilling than living and then re-living
your life’s greatest failures. I am writing this in the most raw, eye-peeled
way I can. If the world is shit - and it is - I want to reveal it in a hi-def
close up.
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