I don’t write for glory, money, or to make a change in my immediate society. Of course, I throw out a piece on how to do things every now and then, but most of my writing is because I like how words appear on a page, or a screen, straight out of my head. It’s magical to me; almost unbelievable. It baffles me each time how all those random swirls of thoughts and agony going around in circles take the form of shapes and characters and words and lines. So, I spill my innermost workings just to see, to experience the magic again and again. I do it not for anyone else but myself, and myself alone. To a lot of people, this process is but a means to an end – they use this to do something, to change something, to affect something. To me, it is the beginning and the end. It starts at the first word and ends with the last line. I don’t see my words affecting anything large or small because I truly believe people are always going to do what they are going to do. We are all subject to our whims and fantasies and heartaches – you have yours, I have mine. There’s nothing my words, or anyone else’s for that matter, can do about anything. People only feel what they already feel. Any form of art just makes it more apparent to them. I’m only in it for the act and how it makes me feel, selfishly so. Anything you take from it is yours and yours alone.