I just typed a whole bunch of off-the-top-of-my-head banter, and then erased it. Then typed, then erased. Now I'm typing again, but I might very well erase this, too. Why am I censoring myself?
These words are not good enough for the intended audience.
Who is my intended audience?
I don't know.
You know, I come to this site almost every day with every intention of adding a new journal entry. Usually I don't. I keep thinking, nothing's new with me, so what do I have to say for myself?
I'm reading some Leonard Cohen right now. Beautiful Losers. I've read it nine times. To look at my copy, you'd think I'd read it ninety thousand times--it's so beat. That's from tossing it across the room every fifteen minutes. It's the only book I know of that infuriates me to the point of hurling it, but intrigues me enough to go pick it up again. F is a bastard. Plain and simple. I hate that character.
Damn you, Leonard Cohen, for making such a beautiful book.
These words are not good enough for the intended audience.
Who is my intended audience?
I don't know.
You know, I come to this site almost every day with every intention of adding a new journal entry. Usually I don't. I keep thinking, nothing's new with me, so what do I have to say for myself?
I'm reading some Leonard Cohen right now. Beautiful Losers. I've read it nine times. To look at my copy, you'd think I'd read it ninety thousand times--it's so beat. That's from tossing it across the room every fifteen minutes. It's the only book I know of that infuriates me to the point of hurling it, but intrigues me enough to go pick it up again. F is a bastard. Plain and simple. I hate that character.
Damn you, Leonard Cohen, for making such a beautiful book.
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[Edited on Jan 17, 2003]