droll

Of course truth is stranger than fiction. The purpose of fiction is to make sense.

Tolerance is the gift of cultivated indiffereance.

I ask forgivness.

I Confess.

I did a sinful thing tonight. A good party was being murdered and I was too stoned to do stop it's death.

Between depression and I are ever only twelve hours.

The savage is not lo noble.

When someone peekaboos at you say: hello.

If you could, you would, surf your friends.

Literally, you must find your voice.

I'm starting to think of myself as an Adult.

Trying too hard to be normal.

Love is sharing music.

More than anything, I am defined by my fantasies.

In a taxi, Classical music, it suddenly strikes me, my parents not ageless creatures.

My desire is procedural, not authentic.

I'm a novel cahrachter who wants to appear in movies.

To love and to cherish, to hold but not to have.

If you really think about them, few things make much sense. This act we call making sense of the world, is very (cont) http://tl.gd/7mele

My first thought, upon waking, is to judge the state of my life. "life is good" or "oh fuck". Not very Zen.