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His words are true, though not entirely true.
He wrote his first poem.
The poem reflects his life.
He recorded it on tape.
His voice is lonely, but arrogant and strong.
I put melody on his voice.
He is my friend.
It all started that night. The night I passed a man in Roppongi who looked exactly like Kanye West. Something changed in my brain - and I still don't know what. Just like the time I suddenly became allergic to cats with no warning, melodies began to pour into my head out of nowhere. On the train platform during my commute, tunes bubble up straight from my brain. I panic, pull out my phone, and open Voice Memos. Every day, I pretend to be some casual guy humming while calling a client - but really, I'm secretly recording the music in my head. The stares from high school girls walking past are absolutely brutal. Still, once I hit play, any trace of embarrassment vanishes. I shake with emotion, thinking the same thing every time: "This is a masterpiece." Honestly, I don't really know what I'm trying to do. But one thing is clear. Starting today, I'm Mr. Morick. I'm a rocker.