Drained

Nothing...

Absoloutly nothing in my head.

uni has sucked my imagination like a big...imagination sucker.

I hate it.

I want things in my head again, not just logic and numbers...real things.

There is a corner in my room that has attracted my attention.

It tricked me...there is nothing interesting about it at all.

If you are unfortunate enough to have stumbled across this blog then i appologise emphatically and wish to reimburse you your time. but i cant.

the end.

Breaking Free

About two months ago I set up a facebook account. Last night I tried to delete my account as I found my life slipping between my fingers at the keyboard (the portal to this highly addictive platform). Believe it or not, I was unable to do so. Not because I started convulsing in fits of preemptive withdrawal...it just wouldn't let me do it. I could deactivate the account but I dont trust myself not to just reactivate it a few days down the track.

Alternatively I decided to wean myself off facebook by tending to a less addictive and far more intellectually stimulating platform.

So here I am.

Kierkegaard

What is a poet? An unhappy man who conceals profound anguish in his heart, but whose lips are so fashioned that when sighs and groans pass over them they sound like beautiful music.

Of all ridiculous things the most ridiculous seems to me, to be busy—to be a man who is brisk about his food and his work. Therefore, whenever I see a fly settling, in the decisive moment, on the nose of such a person of affairs; or if he is spattered with mud from a carriage which drives past him in still greater haste; or the drawbridge opens up before him; or a tile falls down and knocks him dead, then I laugh heartily. And who, indeed, could help laughing? What, I wonder, do these busy folks get done? Are they not to be classed with the woman who in her confusion about the house being on fire carried out the firetongs? What things of greater account, do you suppose, will they rescue from life's great conflagration?