Getting to bed an hour late, got another worthless writing exercise done. I don't know why the fuck I can manage those right now with passionless autonomy and can't return to my own work.
I am completely disgusted with my hobby at this point. I need to pick up chess, or stamp collecting, or rare coins.
You think I'm kidding.
...
The part you give a shit about: new stuff posted to the TBH blog tomorrow. Lucky, lucky you.
Today's quote: <blockquote>I'm invisible.
I've always been invisible.
I'll always *be* invisible.
I have no idea how to make peace with that. </blockquote> I'm in fine form today, yes I am. G'night.
I'm invisible. I've always been invisible. I'll always *be* invisible.
Seems like I could be the one who said those words, or wrote them - a few years ago, a month ago, a day ago, tomarrow. More often than not, if you go quiet and still, people will move around you, and eventually actually forget you are there, putting you to the back of their minds like scenery. It can be disquieting and frightening.
But just because you feel it, and it seems true, it doesn't mean you actually are.
... and now I want to read the invisible man again. Oh, Wells!