Monday, June 29, 2009

Or...did reading ornate, immaculate, impeccable, beautiful, brilliant and incandescent books...

..Become the foundation of my depression - since the real world could never match up with the glory of Shakespeare or Tolstoy or those other guys?

Are books actually the problem?

Did books cause me to hate that suburban ceiling?

And what about the disease of writing, of thinking too much - never mind obsessively handblogging?

(And yes I am blogging while driving - in the rain.)

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1 comment:

  1. the Abbot of ThelemeJuly 15, 2009 at 2:04 PM

    And you're driving east on Cosburn, which is in itself a depressing route to take, not improved any by the easterly locales to come - the depressingly named Dieppe Park and the even more depressing EYSC office and the appalling depression that is Prestigne "field."

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