Halls and halls filled with books, third floor sections filled with peers, peers of peers, and I'm not in a single one of them. Get the fucking boots on, man, there's work to be done. I need to plan something, something, to keep me going. It's as though every sentence has its weakness, take out the knee, and you have something unbending; leave it in, it'll bend whether you like it or not.
This month, I'll send something out. Why is it we don't like doing what we're best at? At least that's my situation. I'm too scared to apply myself at one thing. The way I see it is that I have to do eight things, then live in the space where they all overlap. Like a family holding hands where five borders meet, a family in each border, plus 3 ghosts in 3 ghost-states.
Posted by matty-b at November 26, 2004 7:10 PM