Again to the typing. That beautiful sound of keys clacking away beneath your finger tips. But there is nothing to be said. Nothing to be said. Just redundancies and
Sunday, October 5, 2008
Friday, May 30, 2008
Gagging off Pollution.
It begins in this desolate manner. Black and white. A landscape of smokestacks and reeds. No matter where you point your camera you can't avoid the effects of the pollution. No matter where you breathe or what you do, your always in the same place doing the same things.
"This will never go anywhere," he coyly thinks to himself. Followed by the realization that perhaps coy doesn't mean quite what he thought. Luckily the mac has made definition understanding simple. Just a movement into the upper left hand corner and...the feeling of accomplishment; the word meant just that. As the keyboard clicks in the meditative manner, he wonders what the point of this is. Writing to no one for no reason. Well yes there must be a reason. A reason...the mac wheel pops up as the brain is stuck thinking. It must have something to do with pretenses or with the need to be heard. Does that make sense? I have nothing to talk about. No trips to Cannes, no fulfillment. Just mediocracy. Alas that word doesn't work at least according this e-dic.tion.ary. We live in a mediocracy. Many people want to just be that though, some strive to be that. Here is where he gets pretentious.
I can't settle for that, not that its settling. It's not that its a bad thing. Working grind jobs are just that. There is no ambition to them, unless its settled for. Missing my mind. I want to be involved in films. But i'm wasting my time typing to no one for no reason. No grandeur only delusions. And this is where it starts:
"This will never go anywhere," he coyly thinks to himself. Followed by the realization that perhaps coy doesn't mean quite what he thought. Luckily the mac has made definition understanding simple. Just a movement into the upper left hand corner and...the feeling of accomplishment; the word meant just that. As the keyboard clicks in the meditative manner, he wonders what the point of this is. Writing to no one for no reason. Well yes there must be a reason. A reason...the mac wheel pops up as the brain is stuck thinking. It must have something to do with pretenses or with the need to be heard. Does that make sense? I have nothing to talk about. No trips to Cannes, no fulfillment. Just mediocracy. Alas that word doesn't work at least according this e-dic.tion.ary. We live in a mediocracy. Many people want to just be that though, some strive to be that. Here is where he gets pretentious.
I can't settle for that, not that its settling. It's not that its a bad thing. Working grind jobs are just that. There is no ambition to them, unless its settled for. Missing my mind. I want to be involved in films. But i'm wasting my time typing to no one for no reason. No grandeur only delusions. And this is where it starts:
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