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September 17th, 2005
09:43 pm
for...stupid reasons, mainly my own disorganisation, i am changing my account to squaresun. click here for the new journal and add me if you feel so inclined.
incidentally, both my msn account and email address are now oknoway@gmail.com (msn accepts gmail addresses) so replace onethirdtoaster@hotmail.co.uk, i don't use it now.
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September 4th, 2005
12:02 am
BEWARE TEDIOUS HERMIT ANGST POST BELOW DO NOT READ IF EASILY BORED. You have been warned. (By the way, this journal basically functions as a reservoir for my repetitive self-pity, so if you're easily bored you should probably avoid the whole thing.)
So, there are now six days left until I leave for University on Saturday. I feel nervous. It’s almost certain I will be unable to make any friends, given my mental state. Here is my problem: I do at times feel genuinely lonely, though I am probably better accustomed to my own company than most people are. I’ve heard that, on grounds of human rights, even most murderers are not forced into solitary confinement. Apparently, most prisoners find it hard to cope with this, and collapse into suicidal anguish fairly quickly. I find this quite surprising, and perhaps it illustrates the gulf of personality between myself and mainstream society that I find the idea of being locked up with several thousand strangers infinitely more distressing than being thrown in a cell alone, and that’s even before you consider the risk of involuntarily becoming the boyfriend of some burly guy with death’s head tattoos. I think I would find solitary confinement fairly congenial in comparison. I digress. As I was saying, I do without question feel lonely a lot of the time. I would like to have friends in the sense of intelligent and like-minded people to talk to. And of course I would like to have an intelligent and like-minded girlfriend, naturally, but I think that’s a somewhat remote possibility at the moment. However, in order to meet people in the first place, you have to do a lot of low-level, casual socializing, hanging around in pubs and clubs and places of that sort. I don’t have any recent experience of that sort of thing - the last “club” I went to was a school disco when I was about thirteen - but I’m fairly sure I wouldn’t enjoy it, or be much good at it. I don’t know if it’s worth the trouble. I’ll have to come to some sort of a decision on my approach sooner or later.
END OF TEDIOUS HERMIT ANGST. BEGINNING OF TEDIOUS AUTODIDACT DIARY.
Today I've been reading chapter one of a book I bought yesterday called Europe: A History. The chapter was concerned with European Geography and Prehistory. It's quite interesting, in that the book gives you an overview of the whole story from the early humans evolving running around stabbing Wooly Mammoths with spears, to the Berlin Wall collapsing. I always knew, in a sort of vague way, that the Stone Age humans were of course our ancestors, but the connection was never really brought to life for me as it is here. The chapter details how the emergence of inter-regional trade and the locations of natural resources led to the establishment of the first sophisticated European civilisation on the Aegean Islands. (and its Volcanically triggered collapse) It's fascinating, really. I've also been listening to Lungfish, who are a sort of trancily repetitive punk band who have been rattling around since the 70s. They are very good, and are a band I will explore in detail, with the help of my loyal copy of Soulseek.
Current Music: deerhoof - heart failure
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August 31st, 2005
10:11 pm
Hi, is anyone still reading this? I haven't posted in a while...I've been too depressed and ennui-stricken. However, I was going to start posting again. If you have read this entry, please leave a comment, just so I can tell.
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July 14th, 2005
03:27 am
I'm feeling rather relaxed tonight. Perhaps it is this beer. I doubt it, it's some watery American stuff. (incredibly enough, people buy this piss in Europe, despite the availability of far superior local beverages, just because we see it on American TV shows and subconsciously want to be like the characters in them.) More likely it is this post in an internet friend's livejournal. What I've come to realise is what the stoics said was true, what causes suffering is not the failure to satisfy desires, but the fact of having desire. I've accepted my pathetic hermit fate, and as a result it doesn't seem so bad. It is true that I will always remain bitterly ignorant of love. But there's nothing to be done about that. Having accepted that and stopped being preoccupied with the unattainable, I can dedicate myself to what I am good at: the accumulation of useless knowledge. I am reading Hegel's Phenomenology of Spirit and a detailed academic history of modern France. It's interesting stuff, and at last I can be truly absorbed in it, without regard for goals. Next I think I will begin learning the French language, properly this time. All is well, or it will be until the gloom kicks in again. I give myself about an hour. I'll make the most of it.
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01:00 am
I apologise for posting about a subject that livejournal losers have been banging on about since the dawn of the internet, but a man's got to do what a man's got to do...
I've just been gloomily enumerating my achievements over the eighteen years that I've graced this world with my shambling presence. They don't amount to much. Most painful of all is the fact that I still, at the age of 18 have never had a girlfriend. There aren't really any prospects for that changing in the forseeable future. In my more optimistic moments, I imagine that by going to University I'll be able to turn over a new leaf with a group of people who have never met me before and have not had the chance to form preconceptions. In actual fact this is a fantasy. The fact is I am a charmless recluse, it's not a matter of the preconceptions of others. I will while away the years sitting in my room, leaving only for lectures, becoming more and more irretrievably isolated. For all the difficulties I have had with trying to resolve my pitiful lack of romantic experience so far, it has been nothing compared to what lies in store for me when I turn 20, 30, 40... I will be the sort of person that turns up in news reports after being arrested for killing hitchhikers: an aging, bespectacled solitary with no discernible past or present relationships with women. There's a woman who lives next door to my house, with her mother. She is about 50. She looks like a man, though as far as I know, she's never been in a relationship with one. It's the most horrendously depressing and - to someone in my situation - portentous sight. This is the future.
The thing is, I've had the only chances I will ever have. As far as I can tell, my high school was a veritable Sodom of sexual debauchery. Through sheer force of repressed nerdiness, I managed to avoid ever getting involved. For all my geekdom, I had my share of unironic and overt sexual advances by a small but respectable number of unexpectedly attractive girls. However I always responded coldly, or, more often than not, with total, bizarre silence, despite the fact that every hormone in my adolescent body was demanding that I do the opposite. I'd like to go back a few years and smack my fool younger self across the head. What an idiot. There is little to be done, however. I might as well accept it. There is no point in being preoccupied with the unattainable (i.e. the female half of the human race). I will have to be content with my mpg files.
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July 11th, 2005
06:05 pm - wtf
I had a crazy dream again last night. It must be the heat. I was in a sort of bleak, rainy, darkly surreal version of the small town up the road from my village. The rocky beach that divides the town from the sea, unremarkable in reality, had morphed in my heat-addled psyche into a huge, deserted, jet-black moonscape, inexplicably interspersed with monolithic, scattered ruins. The sky was dark grey, the black rocks shiny with rain. It vaguely reminded me of those Max Ernst frottage paintings; there was same sort of eerily surreal desolation.
I was finishing off a lonely meal in a huge, deserted, 50s style steakhouse which had no counterpart in the real life town. The place was massive, a collosal grid of cubicles with built-in plastic tables and chairs. The whole place was pristine white; although my own table had been laid with a patterned tablecloth and a few dated-looking pieces of diner paraphenalia: a vase of cheap artificial flowers, red napkins. There was a striking contrast between the chintzy tastelessness of these details, and the rectilinear Bauhaus gigantism of the building itself. I finished up my steak and paid, then left the building. I decided to return to my home via the mutated bizarro-beach, and spent what seemed like hours scuttling through pitch black drizzle across the crags. Eventually, I came to an inlet of black water, where I saw a baby seal. I clapped at the cute animal to attract its attention, and it climbed out of the water towards me. Vaguely amused, I turned around to continue my journey. But behind me had appeared what I took to be the creature's mother: a huge, deformed creature which bore little resemblance to a seal, but looked more like a giant version of those primitive land dwelling fish you always see on documentaries about evolution: hideous slimy things, crawling through the mud with their fins. Only this one was about 12 feet long. It frightened me a bit, but as I tried to walk away, I realised that it was following me. I fled across the rockscape, to my house, where I locked the door behind me and retreated to my room. I thought I had lost the creature, but when I looked outside the window I saw it, along with several similar monstrosities, glaring lazily back at me. I (figuratively speaking) shat myself, but at that point the dream came to an end, as the shock of seeing the monsters outside my window frightened me into wakefulness.
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July 10th, 2005
08:37 pm
I have noticed a disturbing phenomenon recently on emule: users sharing porn videos with names like "Mad Max 2.mpg" and "Week End (Jean-Luc Godard).avi". Now I, of all people, have no objection to hardcore pornography. Indeed I am an avid consumer. But it's a bit disappointing when you are sitting back with a cup of coffee, preparing to watch the sophisticated french film you just spent a week downloading, and are instead treated to a close up of some guy's jiggling balls as a bored looking young woman bounces around on his dick while moaning unconvincingly. It puts me off my popcorn, man. There is a time and a place.
Also, I am considering vegetarianism. The reason for this change of heart is a poster I saw pinned to a public notice board in St Andrews, which featured a mournful looking cartoon fish and the slogan "FISH ARE FRIENDS, NOT FOOD!" A fair point, I suppose. It totally ruined the fish supper I had later that night. The URL on the poster was www.peta2.com. I know it's irrational since real fish are mostly not very cute at all, but it still bothered me quite a bit.
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July 7th, 2005
10:29 am
God fucking dammit. I was going to get a train to London to see R.E.M. tommorow. Doesn't look too likely now. (My train was going to King's Cross, which has just been bombed this morning) London is looking like fucking Tel Aviv right now: bus bombs, explosions on the tube etc etc. bodies everywhere. Damn it Al Qaeda, couldn't you have scheduled this better? Some of us have concerts to be at!
Terrorists these days. No fucking manners.
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July 6th, 2005
07:18 pm - mp3 recommendations
1. lustmord - strange attractor
This is very dark ambient. Not so much a tune as a dense fabric of creepy-as-all-fuck tones and clangs and growling. I was sceptical when I first read about it, but I downloaded this track and played it while falling asleep a couple of nights ago. It scared the shit out of me, and I had to turn it off after this first track. It's the sound of giant, unnamable, black things lurking in the darkness. By the end of the track I was half convinced that when I turned on the lights I would find myself in the lower reaches of hell. Good stuff.
2. fennesz - caecilia
Lots of spiny little noises chittering away as a nice yellow-sounding pastoral loop fades in behind them. It has the same sort of combination of prettiness and harshness that makes me like Loveless so much. It makes me think of a smog-choked summer Shanghai port, for some reason. Anyway, it's lovely, and you should download it.
I can't be bothered with these little summaries anymore. I apologise to my combined readership of 3, or whatever it is. Here are some more:
3. broadcast - city in progress
4. mission of burma - max ernst's dream
5. isolee - schrapnell
6. killing joke - the death and resurrection show
7. neu! - seeland
8. pylon - dub
9. consonant - blissful
10. - husker du - chartered trips
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July 5th, 2005
09:49 pm
Today I was out walking. I was "people watching" as I did so, and I was struck by how disgusted I was with most of the people I saw. Just people, walking dogs, playing with their children, chatting etc. I suppose this says more about me than it does about them - another sign of impending lunacy. It's hard to say, precisely, what it was. Their arrogant, satisfied, unselfconscious expressions? Their voices, shrill and inane, defiling the rural silence? This is silly, of course, but there it was. I suppose it's because the only face I've seen regularly for years is my own, in the mirror. The only voice I've heard is the monotonous rambling of my internal monologue. It somehow seems bizarrely shocking to find out that people can look and act in such a wildly different fashion. I fear the unfamiliar, and the unfamiliar is pretty much everything since I spend all my time in this fucking shithole of a room, talking to nobody. This is what hermitude does to a man! Maybe I should move to Antarctica or some place, where I can lose it in peace. Then I could take walks in the snow and be disturbed only by the penguins, or whatever the hell it is that lives up there. I could live out my days huddled in a goddamn igloo. Maybe I'd get eaten by a polar bear. that would be a sight to see! Of course, I wouldn't be in a position to see much of anything at that point.
When I tired of people watching, I spent my time visualising in detail alarming death scenes from the perspective of the victim - that is, myself. e.g. falling off a building, being in a plane crash, running out in front of a bus... I always find this entertaining. A sort of zero budget virtual reality experience. I highly recommend the regular visualisation of your own death. It can be very therapeutic. By making the fact your own mortality - your inevitable, and perhaps imminent death - a vivid, palpable thing, a certain sense of confidence and purpose is brought about. This happens in two ways:
1) In imagining your own demise, you are reminded that time is running out! Seize the moment! The next day, you might be hit by a bus! It sounds trite and obvious, but in truth we often forget this fact, we acknowledge it and file it away in some dusty corner of our memories. My patented death-visualisation method brings death to life! (so to speak)
2) The second benefit is that picturing your death reminds you of the ultimately futile and meaningless nature of life. In the end we will all be dead, and nothing matters. This complements the first point in that it helps us stop worrying about fucking up and making a fool of ourselves. In the end, who gives a shit? We'll be dead, and so will they. So we can pursue our "seizing of the moment" without being preoccupied with making mistakes, or making ourselves look like arrogant idiots in the eyes of others.
Carpe Diem, man.
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July 3rd, 2005
09:03 am
That was strange...
Current Mood: ![[mood icon]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/mood/classic/sad.gif) disappointed
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June 29th, 2005
05:59 pm
Hey, anonymous commenter a couple of posts down, who wrote:
I have a LiveJournal account, but I'd rather post anonymously, for if you were to read my journal you would find all kinds of lies and a life that is anything but my real one.
Maybe we'll never speak to eachother in this lifetime, but reading your journal I feel some kind of, uh, good feeling.
And maybe I'm just stupid and desperate and psychotic, like everyone says. I don't know anymore. I just know that I found you and I don't know what else to say. I know what I feel. And I'm not ashamed)
if you're reading please send an email or something. Please. onethirdtoaster@hotmail.co.uk
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09:24 am
I got insulted again today! Actually it wasn't quite an insult, but it was a stupid comment from a stranger that pissed me off. By the way, I believe I have pinpointed the thing that provokes members of the public into random verbal abuse: I don't smile, or at any rate look a bit gloomy.
I was walking along a coastal path at about 9am today - the same as every day. I do this to wake myself up, and for exercise. Anyway, I saw some cheery looking old guy walking his dog. I walked past discreetly, looking at the sea, and was a few metres away from him when he shouts something. I turn my head back with a quizzical expression, and the wizened tosser says:
"I said, don't look so happy!"
Why do people do this? Has anyone ever responded: "By God, you're right, I should be smiling!", and strolled off with a massive grin on their face?
Anyway, this darkened my mood, and I spent the next fifteen minutes, as I walked back home, devising possible comebacks. (At the time, I couldn't think of anything so I just turned back and kept walking.) Because I am a resentful and petty person, I have decided to schedule my daily walks in such a way as to maximise my chances of encountering the fool again. Hopefully, he will eventually make a say something similar to what he said today. If he does, I've come up with two main lines of attack.
1) Grab his collar, lean into his amiably wrinkled face and bark "My grandmother's just died of cancer!". That one makes me laugh, but it may be too obvious.
2) Insult his facial hair. The guy had an absurd, First World War-general style moustache. This provides abundant material for comebacks. I must explore this further. I have been composing a little script in my head:
"You want me to fucking smile, motherfucker? Since we're giving out advice to strangers, how about you get rid of that fucking thing on your top lip?. Who do you think you are, Otto von fucking Bismarck? This is 2005, you chipper halfwit, you look like a chump. What's that? You don't like that, old man? You don't like getting lectured to by strangers? Then mind your own fucking business and I'll mind mine." (Spit on the ground at his feet, stride off haughtily, credits roll)
3) Just let it go and get a life. (Option 3 is a non-starter)
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June 18th, 2005
12:55 am
Today, while on my daily walk, I was shouted at by a group of small boys. It makes me wonder. Is there something about my appearance that I have not noticed, that might make me a prime target for such derision? Of course, neds do this to half the people who walk by, but it happens an awful lot to me. It's not unthinkable that during all the years of seclusion, I might have unwittingly become in some ineffable way out of fashion in my appearance. After all, I have nobody to consult in this regard. I have tried to solve the problem by keeping my clothing spartan, trying to avoid fashion altogether, but have I missed something?
Anyway, this sort of thing still bothers me despite my theoretical disregard for the opinions of others...I still feel the prickle of embarrassment, the self-consciousness that comes with being laughed at - or thinking you're being laughed at. It's an unpleasant reminder of my biological limitations. To deal with this, I have built up a general hatred of mankind in general and British man in particular. This has no rational basis. It is a matter of personal pique. Still, that's no reason to reject it. In the absence of revenge, There's a sort of nonsensical psychological compensation you can have in hating and despising people who have hurt you in some way. It's very therapeutic. I keep my spirits up with Prozac and misanthropy.
Actually, I often envy those drunken or drug-fried derilects you see sitting at the side of the road, or walking through the streets of cities, shrieking random streams of profanity at fellow pedestrians. Ragged clothes, urinal stench, attracting the horrified attention of everyone they pass...but of course this doesn't bother them, and they are clearly much happier than me. If you're good at fulfilling the expectations of society in your behaviour, dress etc. fair enough. But I'm completely hopeless at that. I worry about these things, but have no means to fulfil them. They don't have the means, but they don't care.
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June 11th, 2005
04:27 pm
Music you should acquire, posthaste!:
  
  
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June 5th, 2005
02:46 pm - I have a dream...
I had another interesting dream last night. My dreams are the only things worth writing about these days.
The beginning fades from memory, but the first thing I remember clearly was that I had made up my mind to kill a person, just to see what it felt like, and to see if I was capable of it. (Just to watch them die). So I was walking up a street near my home, and I saw an old man, perhaps a tramp (I live in a little village, we don't have tramps, but it's a dream, okay?) I remember thinking him a perfect target: nobody would be likely to miss him, and I could destroy any evidence linking me to the crime in the ample period before anyone noticed his absence or found his body. Of course, he's just a tramp, a true thrill would be to kill someone with a family and friends...someone with a good job, someone attractive, female, perhaps. (Note this is not how I think in real life! This is how I thought in the dream.) But that could wait, I would start with easy targets, and this poor cunt was a prime candidate for the time being.
Anyway, I followed him up a secluded country road, an ideal location, but when it came to the crunch, I made a mess of the act itself. My mind slowed down, my movements and thoughts became sluggish, i panicked, and instead of thinking about what I was doing I just shot him in the head with my revolver from a considerable distance (I have never seen a gun in real life) and made a run for it through the fields, leaving his body lying on the pavement less than a mile from my own home.
What followed was the more interesting part...to see what my psychological reactions would be if I was in such a situation. I think they were pretty representative of how I would respond in real life. For a start, I instantly regretted my action. Sad to say, the main reason for this was not sympathy for the victim, who was merely another limp body in the huge pile of corpses that stack up every day in this world, but fear for my own safety. I was reminded of Raskolnikov in Crime and Punishment. If I killed a man in real life, I would probably subconsciously take Dostoyevsky's character as a sort of role model...it's remarkable how these narratives define the workings of one's own personality. The whole experience was fucking terrifying...I had dumped the gun in a bin near the crime scene, and when I got home, I instantly realised what a stupid move this was. I should have gone far away to dispose of it, and if I had it would have been hard to pin the blame on me: no motive, no obvious forensic links (I never knew the man, and never got closer than twenty feet from him) and I was sure there were no witnesses. But the body would have been found by then. So I couldn't go back there and pick up the gun - I would draw attention to myself, and anyway the area would likely be cordoned off.
Of course, this is a dream, so the world didn't function according to any recognisable logic. It modified itself to respond to my fears, my anxieties, my psychological preoccupations. So defying all reason, a witness did in fact materialise. As I was walking down a street later that day, he stopped his car at the side of the road, and started muttering about my "victim". I gave an unconvincing response, I said I had no victim, that I had no motive for committing the crime (which he hadn't even mentioned yet) that I was innocent! Innocent I say! I went home and sat in my room, beginning to become resigned to my fate, wondering how I would survive in prison. There was no more evidence to get rid of. I thought about making a run for it...the police hadn't contacted me yet. I imagined my cell, I wondered if I would go mad in solitary or be placed in the general population and become the involuntary girlfriend of some big guy with tattoos and a shaved head. I wondered if suicide wouldn't be the better option.
But then the overwhelming anxiety must have woken me up, because I sat up in bed and felt a genuine sense of relief when I realised I was back in the waking world, where I had never seen a gun in my 18 years, and I'd never committed any crime more severe than downloading warez from the internet. The relief lasted about 5 minutes, which is how it always is when a burden is lifted, and how it would probably be if I was irreversibly exonerated for some crime I had committed in real life. And that's my dream! The moral of this story is, if you want to kill someone for kicks, join the army, they're doing a lot of that sort of thing these days.
♥, 1/3 toaster
Current Mood: ![[mood icon]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/mood/classic/smile.gif) relieved
Current Music: killing joke - requiem
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May 30th, 2005
09:15 pm - MONDAY STREAM OF CONSCIOUSNESS
I went to Edinburgh today: three hour bus/train ride each way, lightened up on the return journey by the two old guys sitting directly behind me, who were engaged in this sort of hilarious impromptu comedy routine to an audience of zero. They were sort of satirically complementing each other on their pick up lines/skills with charming women...I can't describe it, you had to be there. Trust me, that was some genuine fucking unscripted comedic talent right there.
When they got up to get off I thought for a moment about leaping up and warmly slapping them on the backs, while barking "GOOD SHOW, BOYS" or somesuch...didn't though, I just sat reading my newspaper and stifling guffaws.
Sadly, they were replaced by a contingent of neds (and nedettes), who shrieked profanities in their high pitched imitation-weegie accents for the remainder of the journey. They also insisted on singing that fucking frog song. DING A DING DING DING etc etc please kill me. Incidentally, they've started running that advert twice in a row on some satellite channels now. My sanity is beginning to slip.
I got me some second hand books too: this this this this , £3.50 each, which is an extortionate price but cheap compared to Waterstones and such places. I mean Intimacy is but a pamphlet, really (128 pages, MASSIVE type) so I'll take a couple of hours to read at most, but it has a nifty yella cover with cool foldy bits and a nice elongated shape, so, like the shallow consumerist shithead I am I forked out my £3.50 regardless. Anyway, I'm presently reading Millenium People by JG Ballard, which is good so far.
...so, that's my post for today.
Edit: Now with syntax!
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May 28th, 2005
01:08 am
Note: I never read this over, grammar etc. will be dubious, but I'm too tired.
I've not posted much. Nothing of interest has happened.
I have no money, that's restricting. All I do is read and listen to downloaded music. I've been learning French. I always put it off until late night, but it's actually therapeutic in it's undemanding, uninteresting repetitiveness. It passes the time. I am beginning to wish I had not got over my internet crush. To explain, I had an online infatuation with some girl over the internet, which is something which only a loser does. My mind was rather tied up in it. i would think of this girl, who I knew only as a collection of message board posts and jpg files, day and night. My interest has dwindled however, and I'm not sure that was a good thing. As pathetic and pointless as it was, it at least gave me some interesting emotional stimulation...but that's gone too now. So I have my books, my guitar, that's all.
So...so...so...
What is there to say? nothing other than the fact that there is nothing to say. And that's a limited topic.
I've been thinking: what would it be like to kill an animal? Killing a human, of course, is something we have all thought about. What would it be like? Is that not an experience one would like to have? Of course, law and conscience prohibit that, the former, perhaps, more than the latter. But killing an animal is perfectly legal, and it would perhaps be an interesting experience to take the life of a sentient creature. I mean, I am eating a ham sandwich right now, yet I cringe when I see those dogs being killed for food in Asian countries. But a pig is at least as intelligent, and I will happily eat slices of him for my lunch. But would I be able to pull the trigger, swing the axe, or whatever?
And apart from that...this ham sandwich, I bought it from the petrol station. Cost almost £4. There are people - billions of people, probably, hundreds of millions at least, living on less that £1 a day. I could donate my £4 to charity and wait til tommorow morning. Or I could have just made a sandwich when I got home. But I couldn't be bothered...and the thing is, this doesn't bother me at all. What a load of nonsense western morals are! I do this sort of thing every day, and I don't care. And neither do you, because you do it just as much as me. Probably more, because I am, by luxurious western standards, broke in the first place. I mean, it's morally equivalent to murder, isn't it? But...when push comes to shove, when I have to choose between my ready-made sandwich or the life of an african peasant...it's my sandwich. And it's your's too. You heartless cunt.
If there is any sort of afterlife, every European, American, Australian, New Zealander and Japanese will burn in hellfire for eternity.
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May 6th, 2005
02:29 pm
SUP
I have been reading the Gormenghast trilogy. It is the first book I have properly enjoyed in a while. What I mean is that, recently, I had fallen into the trap of treating reading as a chore. Though I enjoyed the books on their own merits, they were read with one eye to the page number, because I had got it into my mind that I wasn't reading enough, that I was wasting time and missing out on something and that I should read more. So I set myself a task of reading 100 pages of high quality fiction a day. However, in concieiving the books I was reading as simply rungs on the ladder leading to the aim of "enriching my life through literature" or whatever, I actually eliminated my ability to achieve this aim, to have the immersive experiences I was looking for.
So, I gave up on the 100 words a day thing and just started reading when I felt like it. Actually I was barely actually reading the books. I was just going through the motions,processing them in a detached, joyless, theoretical way. This is good shit.
...
Yeah, I know this is probably a badly written entry, but I'm too out of it to edit today....
Current Music: fennesz - caecilia
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April 30th, 2005
08:58 pm
Sup
I have yet again lost every fucking mp3 on my hard drive, as I was compelled for bizarre OCD-related reasons which I will not go into here to reformat my hard drive and reinstall Windows without backing anything up.
I don't really have much to say. But this is my journal, dammit. Anyway, I'm sitting here drinking coffee and chomping Prozac pills like Pac Man while I set up my graphics card.
The worst thing is I know I'll end up doing this all again in about a month's time.
Waaaaaaaaah
Current Mood: gloomy
Current Music: nothing, of course!
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onethirdtoaster's journal
