the way it goes when you're sitting in a plush chair the house is on fire

it was proabably on page ten when i realized i wanted to kill myself. i always do with jeanette winterson books. not because they're maudlin, though they are, not because she's a bitch, though she is, but because she's so damn good it makes me want to vomit. so i dabble here and there in words and know that it's what it is enjoyable meaningful i guess lovable sad pathetic adjectives are useless to describe anything real. the only thing worthwhile in the whole of the english language is verbs. if we could speak in verbs it would be more direct precise and much more of an art to write. anyway, enough babble. i'm going to read more, feel more maudlin then come back and say things no one wants to hear. these things are my nature.

2002-09-21 | 12:39 a.m.
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