me on my desolate couch

why are we intrigued by scoundrels? whether it's pedophiles or presidents, war lords or whores...why do we write books about them, why do we make movies about them? our research of the mental and developmental spurs evolves into the glorification of filth and perversion. we're paying cash to see the circus i suppose. there is appeal in the peaks and valleys of human nature, the celebration of suburbia and sodom all the same//////////// I should admit, or boast the fact that I am writing from the bottom of my own ideas, looking up at them, as my words look down on me, judging me just as they should, holding me accountable. thank goodness for the liberties of literature, if I could be so bold. the manipulation of words to hide your ego or disease, the loophole of transforming sickness into beauty and eloquence, romanticizing foolishness. what is involved in writing a book? do I need a plot? I figure i'll just write a dissertation, an essay...the non linear kind of book. I'll embrace the post-modern approach, so that way I can chalk up my lack of talent to the enlightened idea of deconstruction and the avant garde...my book will the be literary equivalent of the scrap metal thrown together in the front lawn of the art museum. hopefully I can catch a wave of the cultural void, and they will grasp anything that serves to prop up their ego or self loathing.