Just a thought

You may ask how it is that I can remember these monologues, given so many, many years ago, so extensively. It is not that I have a remarkable memory for such things; on the contrary, I am making them up. What? What's this? I have just broken a, rather, the rule of writing! I have revealed myself as a fraud! I have reminded you that I am not real! It's all farce! No, I am not real. Yes, it is all farce. "Call me Ishmael." I am made up by a man named Herman Melville. He is made up by many people all over the world all the time, but right now, Luke is making up him who makes me up. Luke is made up by God. I do not know who makes up God, maybe God's God. I can only hope that somewhere in my book there is a minor character that makes up people too, and one of them, Joseph Herrington, say, makes up John Pumperhower, who makes up, Carol Stennington, who makes up Charles Kilbody, who makes up Sara Nantle, who makes up Rover, who makes up puppies, who make up cuteness, which makes up kittens, who make up meows, which make up God, who makes up Luke, who makes up Herman, who makes up me, or something like that. That is how I can live. That is my only hope.