"The desire to escape, give it all up, or go mad is always tempting... The impulse toward incoherence always flashes in the near distance, luring me like the song of a siren from the rocks, away, perhaps, from the unstable, sickening sea of my own uncertainty.
Yes, certainty is what i seek, a demand for meaning, purity, an answer. Stupid and unlikely though all this might seem. My disgust with events is such that i cannot bring myself to speak.
This is a stylised disgust and a spin on unhappiness... Yet it is the truth as i see it. Getting ever closer to the truth... an attempt to capture the nefarious truth.
"How was your weekend"? "Dismal." or "wretched, as usual". This is closer to the truth than some blasé word, a cliche, some positivity."
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