Leather and Alcohol.

I grew up in a world of words and pages plastered to walls of rooms. This is part of my story.

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A world of words is an ideal world to a lot of people. The best thoughts of the smartest people at your very fingertips, there to read and alter and keep as much as you wanted. Pages upon pages of ideas and plans that were never amounted or achieved are suddenly planted in another person's mind, making a nest with eggs that, when hatched, open up new ideas and plans that just have to be written down and planted in someone else's mind. The knowledge that those words pass on are both dangerous and the most valuable things on the planet. 

Certain words take certain forms; songs, poems, stories, articles printed in stark, black ink that transfers onto your fingers as you leaf through the pages. A word can stick in your head, and suddenly your vocabulary has expanded, and you're using a long, complicated word in a convincing display of intelligence, especially when you're younger and you learn a word like 'complicated'. People will fuss over you for the first few days, then the experience will be familiar, and you'll need to learn something new to attract their attention. 

My story starts with words, but it ends with them, too. I'm only going to describe the end. That is all that is interesting in this big mass of words. 

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