Intrigue Boulevard

this insomnia is worse than the holocaust. ugh.

yeah yeah, i shouldn't be offensive...i meant to say alleged holocaust.

let's write something.

aw, fuck it. i was gonna write this story that started with something about the center of the universe being crowded, then go on for a long time being inspired by this picture of "jack's living room", then finally introduce a character, have him consider his future as a doctor and slit his throat from ear to ear, but you guys will just have to imagine it.

it is 5 am and all and i do have an exam tomorrow that i'm horribly unprepared for. all you kids who have been good students instead of getting really drunk for weeks on end have played it much more intelligently than i've.

but the worst tragedy i think, though saying "tragedy" is pretty fucking stupid, is that the whole system is structured such that most of us are bound to do things we will never enjoy doing for nearly all of our lives. it feels like a setup: go to school, then go to work, then you're old.
it's not like this is any invention of the last hundred years, so don't give me any modern world bitching, you know. but i don't think anyone truly enjoys accounting or electricianeering any more than anyone ever enjoyed serf-ing.
there's no time for anything worthwhile in this awful system. i want to live in montreal for a year, i want to fast for a month, i want to lose all my friends and make them all again. but i'm not supposed to have time for any of these things...i guess my desired vocation is more borne from bitterness about that. which is a shame, i wish it came from philanthropy.
so i'll fight the tragedy, as i'm want to do, and accept the consequences of that. no socially responsible short haired self made ayn rand reading son of a bitch philosopher is ever gonna change my world.