And I thought: all this time I’ve been jealous of him. I’m fucking jealous. To be honest, I felt pretty fucked when I realized he liked the same things I like. I mean, every fucking thing. And I was like
I don’t want you to like the same things I like. I LIKE Vincent van Gogh, not you. I LIKE Fedor Dostoievski, not you. I HAVE a huge books collection, not you. I HAVE beautiful and big brown eyes, not you. I HAVE an eating disorder, not you. I HAVE insomnia, not you. I’M FUCKING DEPRESSED, not you. I CUT myself, not you. And y’know why all these stupid things?? Because there was the afraid that people think I do all those things and more just because of him. Because I was influenced by him. No! I’m not influenced by him, in any way. I’m very jealous with my things. My things are mine, not yours. When I find someone with the same taste as me, it’s great. But almost the same fucking things?? Bitch, please. So yeah. I admire him because he has some great songs, but I hate him at the same time and that’s because I’m jealous.
If I say something stupid, people hates me. If people read something stupid said by Richey, oh my, he’s a god. And y’know what’s the worst thing of all this?? That you’re going to hate me!! One of the things I admire the most of him is that he was the cheap prostitute of the band, and he knew it. And he laughed of that, in everybody’s faces. The irony, y’know. He took it to the extreme, and you have to love him. He did it his way. He drew his own destiny, he created an icon, he tattooed himself on everybody’s brain, didn’t he?? You will hate me because of this: thank you.