I’m Kind of an Important Guy, Part 2
Because it’s entirely possible I’ve had an impact in my life. In literature, in business, and personally. The ripple effect. Probably more than a few hundred thousand people have had their lives changed because I was here. Maybe a million all told. Tiny in the grand scheme of things, but way more than most.
My millions are the living people, the conscious people. I had no children. Gave up on that idea early on. I will be the last Robert Fisher Laird in the three-generation legacy. No biological sons or daughters. End of my DNA line. Didn’t want anyone to follow in my genealogical footsteps. I tried to mentor successors. How did that work out?
I chose young ones to challenge. Men and women both. Differently. Women, as always, still blooming and who knows? The men all wound up abjuring me, convinced they had found themselves in opposing me. One became a devout Federal Reserve opponent, another a hater of all things deist, a third angrily nasty that I had made him a scientist teacher. Still others who went crazy after knowing me. But I made them individuals. They are all alive and conscious. Which isn’t always fun.
Easy to say I’ve failed. Then there are the people who learned from just my writing, who also learned to love me and hate me from what I said with words, graphics, and hyperlinks. What can I say in my defense? I got into their heads. They will never be the same again.
What did I do? A lot.
I posed some questions no one has answered. I proved it’s possible to predict the future. Which I have done repeatedly. I reacquainted the world with the idea of the whole as a destination of literature in my Boomer Bible. I put a knife to the throat of fiction as a narcissistic exercise in solipsism. I proved you can be first a poet and then a diagnostic surgeon of civilization, without losing your sense of humor. I proved that writing fiction can be as fantastimical as creating a video game, followed up by writing a complementary dictionary. And then transcending the offal of fiction to write the truth, day after day, year after year, decade after decade. Why I didn’t die after two gifted masterpieces called The Boomer Bible and Punk City.
Which makes me the best writer alive in 2024. I can prove all of this, but notice no hyperlinks. I’m the only living writer who can demonstrate that everything he’s ever said is provable, factual, in his own electronic and page print history. Put myself before you day by day, week by week, decade by decade. All the while giving you a reinterpretation of fiction none of you have yet understood.
Just a point everyone needs, Punk City is the best and end of modern fiction.
See how cool I am? Actually, not cool. Prescient, predictive, dispositive, final. I killed fiction, all by myself. Arriving at a conclusion none of you can bear: All Writing is Fiction.
I am the only good, honest, truthful writer in the land.
STAY TUNED for Part 3…
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