Note To Self

by Michael Kindt

William Wilson is dead. I am horrified - not at his secrets, or the degree of his insanity, but merely at witnessing his soul leave the confines of his body to evaporate into vast nothingness. But perhaps I should be jubilant that his soul has found a release from the body that carries out actions perpetuated by a deranged and psychotic mind - he is no longer a prisoner to his desperation.

ebook

First published April 29, 2011

About the author

I am a writer living in South Dakota. I have written my whole life, but only seriously these last few years. Giving up conventional notions of career and success, I changed my life and plunged full-time into the world of the starving artist. It was the best decision I’ve ever made. I have had several stories, articles, and poems published, most recently on the Huffington Post, via Tumblr (“Mechanically Separated Chicken,” a short work of sarcasm that was widely misinterpreted and controversial). I have also been published in College Times, Midwest Lit Review, and had a poem included in an anthology called “It’s Dark & Scary In Here.” My writing has been compared to Elmore Leonard, Augusten Burroughs, and David Sedaris, but I don’t know what that means since I have never read any of them. It has also been called “uniquely fucked up” and I know exactly what that means. You will, too.