Eating toast, no one so much around. Scuffing my feet and being all disillusioned. Toast and Philadelphia and Cucumber. Fucking people. It's nice we agree, shiny people far away, that I don't know at all. People are too beautiful but close up only a very few are. And I'm in no position to judge at all, but of course I still do. Everything's just seeping, leaking sadness. And people who refuse to believe in it, except of course when it suits them to. But we always said, the saddest people are the most beautiful. Is it true? Probably not, or maybe so. Urgh people. She reminds me somewhat of Piehole, and that's a good thing, it is. I just hope I don't get buried, but I'm preparing to throw it all off. I just have to now, because it's falling apart and what is there left? Fucking people. Personal statements, and talking over and just hoping, hoping. It's nice, these scary viewboxes into other people's other lives, completely other times and people. I remember when I got so confused by maps, and asked my parents what the USSR was, and they weren't sure, when I asked them what the capital of Germany was, and they weren't sure. And I remembered that today.
And now I am watching a programme about Bob Dylan

Feeling:
Listening to:
Pretending:

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