 |
|||
|
February 05, 2003 Rubbish Theory "What else can you do at 4AM in New York City, alone in your apartment?" She's right. What else can I do? I'm absolutely numb. I should go to bed. Instead, I'm sitting here, dumbfounded, staring into space. Maybe I'm trying to let my eyes do the work, the soul-searching and quasi-problem solving that is necessary. I'm okay. But I could be better. If you're unhappy, we'll be good together. As long as our colors are not similar. Because similar will just mean that I'll try to talk over you and you over me, and no one will ever hear or understand the other. It's happened once before. The result was unsatisfactory. I want to be in Prague right now. According to someone, it's a place where feeling lonely is the order of the day. Out of Sartre's Nausea and into my own life's tale. Conversations with strangers in the library, and even stranger bedfellows. But tomorrow, it never comes. « The Experience is Suffocating | A Parade on Tomorrow Street » | |||