My life has taken a veer towards incredibly boring. My dreams, however, have gotten stranger and more vivid. Maybe my mind is making up for my lack of activity. My lack of living. I'm not living, really. I work. I come home. I curl up and listen to The Cure.
Maybe I should write more poetry. But even then, I don't have anything incredibly sad to write about, which seems to be my spark for writing. I could sit around and sigh.
Yeah. I could do that.
No, I saw something incredibly sad today. A deer head poking out of the wall at the music shop. It had that "What the--" look on it's little deer face. The fuckers. It's creepy that there are so many people out there who brag about murdering for sport. They need to watch a little something called...