Werther de Goethe in Blue (cinzazul) wrote,
Werther de Goethe in Blue
cinzazul

I'm really very very tired.

I went and saw Nekromantix last night and didn't get home until after 2.

I worked all day, if you can call what I do work. Wait... I guess sitting in an office all day staring at a computer screen shuffling papers inputting data and waiting for the phone to ring is pretty much work.

I come home and read about 30 posts by different people trying to deal with the video of the guy getting his head sawed off and the revelation that our country is protected by people who enjoy torturing other people.

I read Michael Moorcocks the Black Corridor today. I'll be very suprised if anyone on my friends list has read this book, except maybe Cait or someone who is a secret nerd that I don't know about. The basic premise of the story is about how at about right this time in the future (the book was written in the 60s) a group of 13 "survivors" are escaping the xenocidal hell Earth has become to colonate an obscure planet on the other side of Barnards Star. Everyone on Earth may be dead. At least enough nukes were being dropped and enough battles being fought because everyone was afraid of strangers that it's highly probably. Twelve lives in suspended animation and one loan crew member pacing the ships iron floors slowly going mad from lonliness and paranoia.

I wish I had an eloquent way to weave all these threads of my day together. The obsessive way I keep watching old homestarrunner cartoons at work. The self-loathing I feel whenever I reach for another dorito. My own xenophobia and lonliness echoed in the blank stares of those around me. I suppose I'm just not eloquent enough. I sit here and ramble on, never really drawing a conclusion to the questions I pose. My own philosophy is live and let live, kill those who don't let live, and we are all fundamentally the same in that we all have the same fundamental potential for evil. I'm filled with conflicting thoughts and emotions and I'd probably feel a lot better if I just got laid once in awhile. But judging by the lives of all the people I know who do get regular sex I'm very wrong in this assumption.

I'm ill at heart and I miss the days when I was given a list of questions that I could answer within a set time limit. Where I knew the hypotenuse and the spelling of antidisestablishmenttarianism and could converse on historical events whose baring on current political trends I had no real conception of.

This life of post acedemic drift which I know acknowledge as mine would be much improved by an injection of capital, but while I wait for my ship to come in I am lacadasically disposed to maudlin thoughts and rather pretentious prose.

As was noted today, for someone with such a sick sense of humor I am suprisingly squeemish.

Stop the world, I want to get off. (go ahead make the obvious joke).
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