110000 #human and then there was the man who wrote poems and stories and he gave them away free, he distributed them in quirky local bookstores and on the Internet, he left them fluttering in the breeze and tacked to streetlights, he left stacks of them in restaurants and coffeeshops. he gave them all away. and then when he was about to die, someone asked him why he never got any of them published or sold any of them or claimed copyright credit for them, and he thought about his answer, and how all his life he had told himself it was because the fame didn't matter, it wasn't notoriety he was after, he had just wanted to say those things, type those things, and giving them away had made them free, made them honest, and finally he said to the person who asked, "because i was afraid they weren't any good."