010-Light Under the Shade-Memoir

CHAPTER NINE

Have I created a new genre of sorts—of literature? Not fiction. Not non-fiction. Not memoir and not the publishing of a diary.

Instead, maybe closer to publishing a blog, or better, like publishing a novel that resembles Facebook/Twitter posts.

As I sort through what I am currently writing, I am fascinated by the idea that this could and should be written as a thought-by-thought, moment-by-moment piece. I ponder the effects of structuring this writing in what I might call “Reality Literature,” similar to Reality TV.

I am not already famous and nobody is really going to buy, much less read, a 1,000-page book written by some no name, like myself.

I’ve been saving all of my incoming text messages. If I could captivate you enough, then it’s worth a try, to write “everything.”

After all, I am a schizophrenic near billionaire, who, while overcoming existing struggles, has lost everything. The goal is to get my things back: my money, my house, my documentary footage, etc.

I am so looking forward to installing what I’ve handwritten on to the computer. Maybe I’ll start when my wife falls asleep—early as usual. For sure she’ll be tired upon coming—and upon my tugging on her immaculate living colorful getting bigger all the time, as I continue tugging it—little clitoris—She’ll make her little shower and probably fall asleep.

She’s the typical guy, married to me—the sensitive wife—with all the transgressive writing I pull off. That’s the Brad Pitt-in-Fight Club version of me—who I want to be. The voice inside—the Georgie of the Ben—He wants to be cool. Even when I am not even “collect.” Cool and collect.

“Collective.” Yes. We are one.

And over the last week or so that I’ve been writing, must say that Georgie—his “real name—“ although he is not real, His real; name is Tom. Tom Bishop.

What I did—writer’s secret—I took an old fashioned name (from my late great grandfather) and made it cutesy—George to Georgie

Simultaneously, I borrowed the name from the little boy in Stephen King’s epic novel, It. His name was Georgie, and because King’s Georgie was a literary character (device, sure) and he “literally” died in the book, It, I felt like I could at least resurrect the name.

I have one cat and two kittens. I didn’t name the 5-year-old myself. His name was Xiphias, and since the heavy metal whore who gave Xiph to me (because her husband was beating him…) She screwed me over, bad, so I recently just changed the spelling to Xipheus.

The two little ones, even though they are bro and sis: the boy is Georgie and the girl is Claudia.

My wife, I write her in as Kelly, because there is not one woman named Kelly who isn’t supremely hot.

By the way, please write me if you can prove otherwise. And Maureen, my wife is hot, too—actually hotter.