Who knows...maybe i'm being the odd schizotypal type who has had a hard smack of reality, or i'm being insecure. Or is it that anyone feels lacking when reading thier heroes books...like kafka!
That mother fucker could write!
And here I am, straining to put together thoughts...nothing channels from my mind to the pen. As I re-read the metamorphasis, his words are absolute magic and then I look at my work....
Wait why does this mean so much?
Is it too hot in my house?
Am I being delusional?
Or is the t.v volume to far up?
Once again it sounds, like i'm rambling.
In yet another ramble today I say a film called "movie hero." It was a man who had delusions that his is followed around by an audience..that his life is being streamed out into the airwaves.
I almost wish I was this man...then the strange things i do wouldn't be so unfounded..or at least I had a guy like him in my life. Funny how I tend to fall for the imaginary ones.
Yep..this is another ramble.