Le Dernier Jour

Here I am, wanting to write again. For the hundredth time. For the millionth time. And still I have nothing of substance to say. It's all just letters strung together in vulgar fashion, just pouring out from some very vacant compartment of the mind. These are not the interpretations that are born of observation and memory, of analysis, psychology, and fear. But there is geometry in everything. The depth of these artificial surroundings is so impressive it's disgusting. I am sick over the brilliance of it all.