And outside my window, The Barents Sea

Norwegian Wood isn't as bad of a book as I thought at first. When the piano teacher started having sex with her 13-year-old student, I started f e e l i n g  i t because it was almost exactly like those erotic nightmares I've been having lately

(But really, most books seem bad at first. They rarely explode instantly, you have to wait a little until you start feeling it)

And yeah, I'm in Norway. Finally, after 11 months. Arrived a couple of hours ago. Midnight Sun. Fog. Reindeer

Why is the previous thing repeated?

It wasn't me.

I'm going crazy, literally, literally losing it

I'm going crazy, literally, literally losing it

It's so embarrassing to be in love.

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!