Okay, look. The more I read this Jeffery X Martin‘s stuff, the more freaked out I get. I don’t know how I missed it the first time, but he actually mentions WREK in his books! Is he listening to the station? Does he know who I am?
Come to think of it, I didn’t know half the songs he mentions before I played them on the radio. I don’t even remember buying the CD’s. I have them, though. I’ve seen them. I’ve sung along to them. I think.
They say if you do what you love, you’ll never work a day in your life. But I can’t remember not working at WREK. I’ve always been here. I’ve never not been here. It’s like that damned Kubrick movie: I’ve always been the caretaker.
Well, that can’t be true. It makes sense, in a real stoned sort of way, but… no. That’s some hot meta bullshit.
But if I don’t have any memories besides the radio station, and I do not, and I can’t even remember choosing my own playlists, then I have to consider it.
Jesus. Come to think of it, I don’t know who I am. I can’t tell you my name because I don’t know it. And if I don’t know my name, it’s because he hasn’t written it yet.
And if I’m just a character in some hack’s horror book, then you’ve got to help me. Yeah, you. If you’re still reading this, then maybe you’ll read Jeffery X Martin‘s books, too.
Don’t you get it? I’m not real until you read me. And I can’t not be real, because I AM real. Aren’t I?