So I'm sitting on the bed writing, the sun is glaring through the window and I'm feeling queasy, uninspired. I know I have to write something, or I'll be a fucking plebian over christmas. I look down towards my feet, it strikes me, that this is an interesting composition of things.
It pretty much sums up the way I've spent the majority of my days for the past few months, as I've tried to scrape by. Survive. I tell myself ''d00d, I've got to photograph this shit.'' Strangely enough, I begin to feel slightly reinvigorated, inspired again. I blast out 850 words of glorious sequipedalian and hyperbole, perfect syntaxes. I smile triumphantly.
Glorious indeed.
[Reposted from flickr.com]
- Michael [2007]
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