It would be nice...

To open this page up and find someone had read it and found it something more than nothing at all would make feel a little more whole inside. At the moment I'm alone, I'm walking through ''a forest of concrete and steel'' (I cannot remember where I stole that line from but it’s awesome so I'm using it) filled with those in fancy dress and those too poor to buy it, those from other places and those from no place at all really. We all live in a world filled with people but some of us are as alone as alone can be. The single cacti breaking the horizon, the only thing to cast a shadow for hundreds of miles. (It sucks that miles sounds so good, kilometres just kinda ruins the flow). Anyway enough of the sappy mystic metaphysical crap and all the stuff in brackets to, I really must try and resist the urge to explain everything I think and why I think it.

So this week things have gone from bad to worse. I have sunken into the pit of self-loathing and hatred that I haven't managed to find the bottom of yet. It seems the more I struggle the deeper I slide... as a matter of fact it seems like no matter I do I find myself deeper in this hole, and with the rate I’m falling I hope to hell there is something soft at the bottom.. I've never been a great writer but I spit out some brilliant albeit short stuff more often than most people think. Fuck. I have come to a standstill in my writings again, which means that all this wasn’t leading to some brilliant dam breaking spasm of writing genius is was just a build-up to nothing which will of course leave me feeling even worse. Goodnight people (no one actually) if I’m not here tomorrow I'll see you all in hell when you decide to join me.