I haven't felt impressed to write much lately (oh, aside from the occasional abstract melodramatic shiz). There is hardly anything I feel the need to express to others-- or even to myself. I am just living the 9 to 5 life (well, the 8 to 3 life), drinking my coffee, taking my meds, reading my New Yorker, making my dinner, changing my clothes, brave new world oh soma soma soma.
I need to shake things up a bit. Hang upside down. See the world from outside. Spend a night naked in the wilderness with nothing but a concoction of mustard and hot water to drink. In other words, I need to quit in order to begin.
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