Dear Readers, The fact that my book is a real object in the real world makes me feel like the recipient of a miracle. Is that how I would say it? Is the receiver of a miracle the "recipient" of a miracle? Does one "receive" miracles? In any case, I mean 'the book as miracle', in a Monkees kind of "I'm a Believer" way. I still fear that love might be for someone else, not for me, but up until the book arrived on my doorstep, I also thought that book publishing was for someone else, not for me. And since I acquired my copy of my book, I have kept it at my side, like a small child I must guard. And show off, like a little cousin visiting from Bratislava, for instance. And for instance, if I were to meet you on 9th Street in Durham, I would most certainly pull my bruised cousin from my bag and force you to look at him. If you should be the victim of these actions, please note that it is not arrogance, but rather disbelief that causes me to do such things. I feel like a person with coronary disease who has managed to win a marathon. In any case, the writing of this book often felt like trying to run a marathon with coronary disease. It, in other words, feels like a personal triumph.
What is also quite wonderful is that the book is already deeply misunderstood. For instance, here you can see how the book is being marketed as a first-aid device. This is even better.