Satan Burger

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I wrote this book (basically) when I was 20 years old and on the verge of self-murder. Not sure if my verge was due to a fascination with an unknown afterlife or due to utter boredom. Most likely the latter. The world becomes clearer and clearer the older we become, much less mysterious/exciting and all of its appeal we experienced during childhood turns logical, and logic is a dirty and boring word. This story is from the viewpoint of the rebel, who I am still deeply in love with, who refuses to accept the beliefs (the logic ) that have been issued to him like a uniform: I refuse to be a slave to money, I refuse to accept clarification of the afterlife, or the opinions others might believe to be fact, I refuse to learn foreign languages, I refuse to make up my mind, I refuse to remember all that I’ve learned, I refuse that one plus one always equals two, I refuse to be good, because we are not sure about the definition of good just yet, and I refuse to become blind, lose my hearing, misplace my legs…

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