Because You Care

I don’t do plans. They’re nasty. They hurt people. They kill more novels than they write. Or maybe that’s airbags.

I wrote a brief age thing for Eterne. What Logan does at different ages and stuff. And his brother. The good guy. I hate good guys. They’re so boring and unimaginative. Murderers are better. Murderers are more interesting. They rule.

Sadly.

I’m ust not diggin’ the plot. It’s original but it’s messy and kind of weird and overly philosophical. Meh. Whateverness.

I love Neil Gaiman and Cormac McCarthy. I had a discussion with one of the Waterstones’ people about the latter when I bought Blood Meridian. The Road was topic abound. It’s amazing. Read them both.

I saw Brokeback Mountain. It’s a sad film. Brilliant, but sad.

I’m feeling randomly empty and alone these days. I need cheering up. I’m off to London tomorrow. That should be fun.

Perhaps another mention about the modern disgraces upon literature soon. Paolini, I will get you again. And you Miss Gloria Tesch. Maradonia and the Seven Bridges my arse.

(She started swearing at me, pretending to be older than she was but forgot to change email address. If that’s literature…)

(Paolini, you are a disgrace to literature. Actually, you might be a nice guy, but your writing is the shit. You compromise my belief that everyone should be literate.)

This is so me right now:

(But I’m not an emo.)

Bonjour, kiddies.