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This is what it could look like when one completely deconstructs a life as one knows it, and how to build from the ground up. Alternatively, this is a fresh look at an old story. The fine art of falling apart.


I'm Gish. I guess this is what one can call the remnants of a pre-mid-life crisis. I listen to too much music and read too many books, and it all means nothing. Abrasive, I smoke too much, drink too much coffee and hardly sleep. Alive. Be sure to check out the new links to blogs, photos, music and other sorts of good stuff at the very bottom of the page.



I always find myself staring at this screen when I get a good idea, and it wafts away like a silk scarf. But I was reading another's blog, and feeling kind of like we were on the same page. London never was what I thought it would be. I thought it could save me from myself in some sort of creepy existential way, but it never seemed to appear or grip me when I needed it most.

So, I left.

And I'm staring at my computer screen through the haze of the Imovane that isn't working for me as it normally does. That's a lie. Sometimes, it cops out alltogether, and I end up reading the backs of books I only vaguely remember, and figure what the hell, I might as well read it again.

I hate this hour. I'm the only one awake, my friends either have real jobs or I'm just the only one alive, with my eyes open at this time. Even cigarettes aren't my friends right now.

Sleep. We usually have a bloody fistfight over who is the better at some point or other. I just hate it when I lose.

Are we intrepid? Probably not. I'm never in keeping with anyone else. I'm too much work for you beauties. Like two full time jobs. Even I can't keep score anymore. And the haze is lifting. Dammit.

No S's were harmed in the writing of this entry.

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