Beauty...
The Garden State soundtrack was playing as I finally began a basic sexual flowering.You were great, I was... meh, like a piece of damp wood. Recently I finally saw the film Garden State... it struck a chord quite deeply because of the removed romances. It'd not scratch underneath my skin if some new romance on this continental plate had replaced it, but it hasn't...
Meh. I'm doing my experiences perhaps to much credit. But let's face it, I have nothing to compare them to except once falling in love with someone I couldn't have at all... so meh. And yeah I confess, I still like her.
The solid state dissolute emotional brigand desires. So fucking kill me. Seriously, put me out of my misery. Ooo, that sounded risky. It's fortunate it's just an epic self-indulgence. The sheer depths of my inner peacelessness, loneliness, and despair is largely unapparent to most. That must be the result of some good disguising on my part, or the diffuculty of describing what's within one's conurbation of thought, feeling, and sentiment.
Creative writing is sorted. All that now remains is to write up my contemporary literature essay on Maus, and finish preparing for my 36 hour essay on Oedipus. Yesterday I took the train up to Truro, on which I was joined by Will, of my creative writing class. We chatted hearily, and then he boarded another train at Truro station, whereas I went into town and explored briefly. There's only so much to explore in a place the size of Truro. Being alone most of the time, as I am, it's actually very difficult to do outdoor things with one's time. I have gone cycling several times, and even tried to be sociable, but sadly I'm just not one of them. I can always complain, and yet I do not. If this is always, then you are psychotic for your hyper-telescoped understanding of reality. Maybe the fact that I think inwardly is the reason no one gains anything from talking to me. I am extremely shy and by and large actually have nothing to say to people. Indeed I find people insufferable annoyances most of the time. We are, in the words of Bill Hicks, a virus with shoes.
Meh. I'm doing my experiences perhaps to much credit. But let's face it, I have nothing to compare them to except once falling in love with someone I couldn't have at all... so meh. And yeah I confess, I still like her.
The solid state dissolute emotional brigand desires. So fucking kill me. Seriously, put me out of my misery. Ooo, that sounded risky. It's fortunate it's just an epic self-indulgence. The sheer depths of my inner peacelessness, loneliness, and despair is largely unapparent to most. That must be the result of some good disguising on my part, or the diffuculty of describing what's within one's conurbation of thought, feeling, and sentiment.
Creative writing is sorted. All that now remains is to write up my contemporary literature essay on Maus, and finish preparing for my 36 hour essay on Oedipus. Yesterday I took the train up to Truro, on which I was joined by Will, of my creative writing class. We chatted hearily, and then he boarded another train at Truro station, whereas I went into town and explored briefly. There's only so much to explore in a place the size of Truro. Being alone most of the time, as I am, it's actually very difficult to do outdoor things with one's time. I have gone cycling several times, and even tried to be sociable, but sadly I'm just not one of them. I can always complain, and yet I do not. If this is always, then you are psychotic for your hyper-telescoped understanding of reality. Maybe the fact that I think inwardly is the reason no one gains anything from talking to me. I am extremely shy and by and large actually have nothing to say to people. Indeed I find people insufferable annoyances most of the time. We are, in the words of Bill Hicks, a virus with shoes.