It is hard to be a writer. It is very hard to be a writer in a post-literate world. I do not mean to say that no one reads anymore, only that no one reads anymore. I do not mean to say that no one reads anymore. I know they do. They just don’t read me, is all—that is what I mean to say. And really, who can blame them? I am asking of readers something they can never give. It is twofold, what I am asking. I am asking first that they find me, they find the cave where I am hiding all my words (I will really keep them hidden this time!), but I do not tell them where this cave is, I have placed it on the map, but I have given it no name. The second thing I am asking is that, rather than ducking and dodging all the bats in this cave, they make sense of them instead, they see them as orderly and rational, like a convention of prelates. You see I am doing it now, in real time (what to me is real time, what to you is not, and never will be because you will never see this), I am asking you to make sense of some very obscure metaphors. How they relate to reading is really anybody’s guess, except mine, because I understand what I am saying. But I am too obscure! It is true that I have always been an obscure writer, and that is why, well, that is why I am banished from the kingdom of writers with readerships. It is well that it is so. I am comfortable in my obscurity, it has always been this way and ever shall be. In truth, it is a sort of self-banishment. I put together words with ease; that I make them fly erratically is a choice I have made about what kind of writer I wish to be. I wish to be this sort. You do not need to read me for me to love what I do, although I will tell you that a heavy loneliness sits upon it, but that, too, has always been and ever shall be. I will tell you this, too, in order to further illustrate the degree to which I am not only comfortable in my obscurity but engineer it as well. In my former website, I had an entire “blog”—dear god I hate this word!—that was hidden in my menu bar. I gave it no title whatsoever, not even the practically see-through “Untitled”; it would have taken a pinpoint accident to find it. I like obscurity.