Made me throw up

What all the young Alt Lit writers haven't realized is that great Art is not only about the Present and the Now, but just as much about the Timeless and Universal. Alright, go ahead, write about tumblr and tweets and retweets, but as long as you're not saying anything about Love Hate Death and Life nobody's going to stay and cry and smile with you.

And all these people who've spent their lives with Culture. With Art. Studying it, breathing it, making it. That despite all this they still remain lifeless and boring. Something's not working, you must look closer and listen more carefully.

And here I am, waiting, trying.


And I will set the world on fire!

I will set the world on fire!

I will set the world on fire!

I love this girl...


but she's dead.

I want the one I can't have.

Every day. Every second.

And it kills me.

Moz.

Morrissey with a cat.


Morrissey as a priest.


Morrissey in motion.

Paulo Coelho is not very good

This used to be the nicer blog.

Now it's nothing but a big bloody vomit.

But new thoughts will come, new days, new prescriptions.

I've really started to write the fucking Ghost book. And I think that I'm finally delivering, baby.

I guess I'm finally doing what I always wanted to do. I should become the new fucking Paulo Coelho. Just kidding. He's not very good.

I don't know when I'm being serious and when I'm not anymore. Everything's just a big dead-serious joke.




Okay. It's getting a bit old.

Ok. I have to stop destroying my soul like this. Because even in the darkest of darknesses, there is always a little light. And even if it's sometimes hard to see, that light never goes out. Not as long as you and I are here, not as long as we can take a deep breath and smile and wait for tomorrows.

I have to give myself a break.