a stone on the phone breaking a wishbone

Oh my God. I have contracted ADD. Also, a rush of inspiring ink just gushed through my brain and dyed my veins blue. I have a massive album to-download list that requires attention. Currently, in this prehistoric machinery, I can't operate more than two windows at any given time, so the completion of the task is not only impossible, but suicidal to contemplate. I have this strange sensation that these computers we use today are slightly hilarious and nearly obselete from the day we get them. I have a feeling we are on the cusp of something. But then again, I always have the feeling we are on the cusp of something. I always look at the collective with optimism, and sometimes forget it is me mostly that has all the excess goodwill, like a crystal prism making rainbows here and there and everywhere. Fucking opaque marbles.

I have a feeling that I bought the most marvellous book today. I spent my money like a guilty Catholic nun buying candy for the - oh, what a horrible metaphor that would have been. Forget about it. The book is called - ready? - the book is called, hang on, I actually forgot, oh yes, By Nightfall. By Michael Cunningham, released this year. He wrote The Hours and I absolutely detest that movie, which won fuckloads of prizes for its endearing emptiness. But I have been reading some excerpts of By Nightfall on this book blog - A BOOK BLOG - and every single line just made me pant and think I needed to get to know this writer.

I also had all kinds of insights yesterday, in bed, the kind of insights you actually physically need to write down in order not to forget them. More even - the kind of insights you need to staple somewhere to stare at it for a couple of days - because its truth is so gratifying and naked that it pulls you in like an obscene French sex scene.

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