i am currently reading this amazing book about an obituary writer and his penguin. it is whimsical, horrific and funny. the thing is i find myself currently struggling through it wanting to instead be reading a book about someone getting killed in a dirty council estate. weird to want to shift from smoething that makes me smile to something that will obviously be a big bummer.
these are the situations that i am constantly faced with. they are not life really that important until i delve beneath the surface and realize that this is just yet another example of the fight between reality and fantasy in my mind. bummer, eh?
i hope everyone liked joel's post. it was fucking genius. i write his name because his post transcended the psuedonym. that is something to be fucking proud of. ennui though, thats a bummer.
so yeah, i still exist around these part. im hovering in the corner of the room, flapping my arms slowly so as to avoid detection. it'd be a rough life if it weren't so easy.
oh yeah, i've never believed in giving up. so i won't. at least based on precedence.
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