The Sound of Silence

Things have gone rather quiet around here. It is the sound of the breeze blowing through the naked branches whence the leaves have fallen, and the day turning dark at stupid o’ clock in the afternoon. I feel decadent like a New Woman in the 1890s with the apocalypse of Winter hanging over my immediate future.



It’s all decidedly Postmodern.



At times, the fissure I find in every single thing I question compels me to vomit out a million words in a practically involuntary manner; at others it stops me from finding any purpose in any single thing in the world, and suddenly I’m grappling at straws and I pull the carpet from under every argument I construct.


Depressing, innit? Pass the Cabernet Sauvignon, please.


Tomorrow will be better. I’m gonna buy me a nice new dress.

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