depressing ramble from back of notebook from god knows when

I try to live up to all these names and write like Joyce, Allen and Jack and Hemingway. But I can't - is truth. I can never write like that. Everything I write feels insufficient, inadequate, incomplete and I can't ever write. I feel like I won't ever be able to write well enough - nor love well enough - if I can't write and I can't love, I have absolutely nothing left.


I am like the needle stuck on a piece of dust between the grooves on the record I thought you'd like. Going nowhere and playing the same tune.