I write fiction because it completes the one I am.
My mind observes the world through stories.
Life’s like that, I tell myself. A story copulates with life.
Indeed, my own identity springs out of them.
Stories store and restore me; me and my experience;
They pickle me in. Sometimes grill me.
They are truer than relationships.
Relationships are not real; they are forced;
By chance legitimized by that ill-gotten dame,
Called, ‘Society.’ My bonds with my stories
Are purer. There are no or few vested interests
That fasten me to them. Stories force themselves
Like babies to be born. I love or even dote on each
And bring them up with instinctive care.
My poems are another matter:
I write them to blow off momentary steam.