So things might not flow in a logical order. Bare with me.
I want to know you, and I want you to know me. I am a jester and a fool, a trickster and cynic, but there is more down here than just that. I want to tell you about my scars. I want to hear about every dream you've ever had. I want to know, dammit, and it's been written on a slip of paper since the Samhain of 2001. From the sum of irrational numbers to the flavor of your 10th birthday cake.
And dammit, but I am a good writer. I am not good at being an author, because I don't have the drive, or the know-how, or maybe just not the interest in getting my work out there. But dammit, I am a hell of a good writer. I have such stories in me, I have such prose and poise and gift. And when I am sober, it saddens me that perhaps they will all die with me. And when I am drunk, I cry with joy at the thought that I could write them at all.
I am a storyteller. And I want your story. Perhaps it makes more sense than I thought at first. Perhaps I do find some truth in the wine. Hail Dionysus!