October 7th, 1966
I was born today. I don’t remember it cuz I was too young but I’ve seen pictures taken shortly afterwards of me on my new stuffed Lion given to me by Nan, my grandmother. Lion must be older than me. I still have him.
I was born in Broward General Hospital in Ft. Lauderdale, Florida, U.S.A. but I lived in Boca Raton. I don’t remember any of this either but that’s what I’ve been told. It may all be false for all I know. I’ve always had a problem believing things that I couldn’t see or remember myself, probably cuz so much of what I’ve heard or been told has been complete or partial bullshit.
There are so many lies and distortions of the truth Its hard to trust anything. Even from people you should be able to trust. The world is just on big boy crying wolf whenever the situation suites it. I didn’t keep a journal during this time and I can’t really remember much so I’m going to have to fill in a lot of gaps and rely on piecing together a bunch of shit. Maybe I could just embellish like James Frey and just about everyone else who has ever written a memoir.
It's such bullshit. I trust the people more like Tony Montana who “always tell the truth, even when I lie” I guess that’s the essential truth that Oprah got lambasted for defending. Nobody cares about the essential truth in this plot obsessed society. People would rather believe nice sounding lies as long as no one admits they are actually lies. “It’s my story and I’m sticking to it”.
That’s the attitude. Just smile and always insist it’s the truth and you can’t go wrong. Its strange to say it, but the book “A Million Little Pieces” is one of the main inspirations for me sitting and deciding and typing my story here. I have always wanted to be a writer but never really seriously started the process of actually writing until now.
If I ever publish this – or anything for that matter – I’ll have to credit James Frey as one on my prime inspirations. By the time I’m finished though, I ‘m sure I’ll have to have classified it as fiction though – Even though I am trying to make it as true as possible.
Searching and pleading and racking my brains and every memory I can muster up for the truth. The whole truth. I’m looking for truth I never knew existed. If I could find nothing but pure truth in the quest to put my entire life down here in print I would gladly give everything I’ve got to accomplish it. Even if I could pull this off, I would still end up having to classify it as fiction.
Because what is Fiction anyway, or non-fiction too for that matter? The worst definition I’ve heard and the one I hear the most and the one that most clearly illustrates the utter superficiality of the average person is that – non fiction is true and fiction is not true. What a plot obsessed collection of fools. Anyway, I was born today, if anyone cares.
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