I have been writing in a journal on an almost-daily basis since I was 17 years old. This is a record of me going through each entry from the beginning, and commenting on the me from fifteen years ago.

Have you ever created yourself and then realized that you fit in nowhere? You have smoothed your rough edges so well that a niche no longer exists for you. It is a rough and lonely life to go on not understood, not seen. Trapped by your own choices. I would have it no other way, but I have put myself here, and I regret it sometimes, but I have put myself here. There is no other way, save in dreams. Sometimes, I will be alone, and that is the way it is to be. I have created myself, and now I realize how I do not fit it. That is the way.

Being misunderstood (as long as you think you’re right) is the best. The minute you become cool, especially if its you making that proclamation, it’s over. You’re no longer at your creative best. Be a proud iconoclast. It’s the shit.