Tuesday, April 28, 2009

levi burton.

this is an autobiography that i wrote about a man that i stalked in the library for a realist drama assignment. 
ooooh realist drama. how artistic. bahahahaha.

anyways, i found him in the library, and he judged me for being on my computer in the young adult section rather than looking at books. that's why i chose him.

from there i delved into this man and created a new character: Levi Burton. 
a man who is superior. a man who indulges in the classics. a man who suffers from compulsions and a man who is draining to be around because he is exhausted with life. he is dying.

when i realized that Levi was dying, i sat in the library by myself and cried for about 2 hours, which at the time was a rare thing for me. anyways, here is his autobiography.

(when this is printed off in standard margins, each paragraph is 5 lines long)

Levi Burton
(pronounced lee-vye bhur-tonne)


Hello, it may or may not be my pleasure to meet you. By which I mean that you are one of a variety of people who may or may not read this and you may or may not be a pleasant human being. It occurs to me now that I am not meeting you, so in turn I suggest that it may or may not be your pleasure to meet me. I have always been one for introductions. I am Levi Burton, and I am a dying man.


            I am a dying man. I cannot reiterate enough. I, Levi Burton, am a dying man. What conclusive evidence is there to prove this fact, you may be asking. There is none, however there is conclusive evidence that each doctor I have ever met with is a complete and utter imbecile, the evidence being the fact that I am obviously a dying man. When I die, you will know; the doctors were all misinformed imbeciles.


            No one intelligent becomes a doctor. This is a dog eat dog world, you get nowhere by helping people. It takes an intelligent person to know this. I know this. Intelligent people make art. They focus solely on preserving themselves through their art because you see all good artists die. I know this. I am a dying man. Tchaikovsky, he is an intelligent man. He is also dead.


            I work in a library. I preserve art. Lately I have been placed in the Young Adult section, where there is no art for preserving because the young adults of today do not appreciate art. My employers believe it is art and needs preserving, but they also believe that they are intelligent. I am intelligent, I appreciate art, and I know. I know that there is no preserving art in the young adult section.


            Here I must begin a new paragraph, but not because I am beginning a new idea, which is when one should begin a new paragraph, I know this. You see, I suffer from obsessive-compulsive disorder. I suffer so much. I die slowly, and I suffer. Each paragraph must be five lines. All I wish to say is that my employers try to spite me for my intelligence, and also because they know that I am dying. Hence Young Adult.


            Now I begin a new idea, which is convenient, as I had reached five lines, something, which you may or may not have noticed. If you did not notice, please try to keep up. I research diseases at my job, for I am not needed in the young adult section, for reasons, which I have already discussed. I research diseases and I slowly but surely come closer to finding this sickness that will be the death of me.


            You see, I am sick. I convulse and I ache, vomit and shake. How odd of me to rhyme there. I do not often rhyme, as rhyming is a generally happy thing to do but I am exhausted with life, as I am a dying man. I do not know why I wish to tell you these things. I moved to Canada from the Ukraine at a young age, and I watched people. By watching, I learned that they are often not worthy, they are unintelligent.



            I had no desire to move here. I was quite happy in the Ukraine, however my parents are scientists and not artists, they are not intelligent and they do not know good decisions. I was fluent in English, but I put up a fake language barrier, a wall if you will, out of spite. As a result, I learned to watch people. I learned by my watching that we artists are superior, the others are not worth our time.


            In fact, it is most likely that you are not worthy, that perhaps you are unintelligent. I know this from both my watching and from being an artist, from being intelligent. Thus, I will stop writing. Before I leave though, I leave you assured that I will find out what is killing me. Do not worry about me, Levi Burton. I will be preserved, for I am an artist, and I am intelligent. I am a dying man.


nperpetuo said...

interesting. more interesting: now write levi burton's autobiography of you.

Anonymous said...

i am speechless. this is intriguing

Nicholas said...

This Levi person is really full of himself, isn't he...

Mush said...

but we are all dying men...