This....


10.08.07

...is getting dire.

The little people in my head are by turns catatonic, or chaotic. There is no happy middle ground (sponsored by Prozac) where they are 'well-adjusted' and 'productive' members of society.

I imagine them to be like the Troglodists in Delicatessen - buzzing around stealthily in odd little outfits and waiting to come out when it gets dark.

As you can see (or not, as it were), I yearn to write something that doesn't contribute a single blasted point towards my KPIs. But it is all over the place, or stuck. Or stillborn. And all I have left are my silent monologues performed in the LRT- which would probably amuse/bemuse/alarm fellow commuters, except, luckily for me- they're all mostly catatonic themselves.

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nads went at 16:10

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