With a couple of clicks and the eventual deep breaths of a passive, deep socially awkward panic which has been haunting me all my life, I select the few small steps of creation. I'm creating a space of my own and this adds to the tension inside my lungs making me breathe faster and deeper which makes me stutter. So I stop and take a last deep one and press confirm. And here I am; all naked, all giving and not even close to being a sold out show. Not yet, at least.
But it's not exactly being naked, so it's not so hard to do. It's a different approach. I write about what I've never had in hopes of creating a picture of what I have been all my life. It's like wearing a transparent plastic bag while butt-naked and saying you're clothed.
And I guess you didn't even imagine a hot chick in the fore-mentioned situation. Just a fat, hairy man, wearing a transparent plastic bag. And it was just a fictional comparison.


That's how fucked up you are right now.