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This is another stream of consciousness, clouded by the liquor and the emotions of the moment. I don't write well, but this seems like it could be a good idea. I like where I am, sort of. I only truly like one person around me but I really like learning and experiencing the shit I'm involved with. I hate everyone. I love my family. I hate everyone else. Except Dj and now Alex. But maybe i'll hate them too when I find out what they don't tell me. I can't afford to like anyone else. My girlfriends, my friends, my extended family even, could all be snakes in the grass (and, most, at one time or another have been). I don't like people that don't reciprocate a liking for me. I have a weakness that involves me loaning money or being kind and it never plays out as I think it will; not to say that I am perfect, or that I have lived up to my promises in the past. I do believe though, that if I take a large debt or if I see a large problem I step the fuck back and pay my dues. Then again, I watched a guy die yesterday and I didn't help at all, so maybe I am a larger d-bag then I perceive myself to be.

entropy (cont)

First of all i'll define the title - "a doctrine of inevitable social decline and degeneration." lifted from dictionary.com with utmost thanks and respect. (Stealing is much more innocent on the computer. Very rarely does e-thievery come back to bite you in the ass.) Thanks for this title are due to Grant Morrison for entitling one part of his opus "The Invisibles", "Entropy in the U.K." Good luck following that sentence. And we'll welcome Alex to the egoistical world of online blogging where people prove that they write a diary for others to "stumble" upon or more fitting people want people to know their deepest secrets but no one wants anyone else to know their deepest secrets. Stick with me if you will despite my poor phrasology.
Now that I have concluded the pointless introduction i'll take a moment to figure out why I am typing right now. Well I don't have any drama to add to the web, no nudies, hm..., no R. Wilson sightings, shit, no depression, no angst (accept for said angst written ages ago in the first post.) Fuck I need something to bitch about. anything. anything at all....well idk....why entropy then you ask?
Because.

Filibustering philanthropy

Here we are again. The odd opportunity to sit down and pretend the world listens to my words. Or pretending that I'm interested in my own thoughts transcribed. Anyway work is robbing me of ambition and creativity. These transfusions of my more indpendent mind for the mind of a sheep are slowly killing me. Whitering away my desire to exist. TBC

endless

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

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: