Mobscene.

Oh, I can't help it. Falling back in love with Manson. Utter genius. Beautiful poet. Sensational voice.

What the hell is up with this recent cold streak? I'm not digging the fact that I have to wear a hoodie again...or the fact that people are now wearing coats. Granted, I hate sweating--thus, extreme heat is something I happily avoid. But coats? Come on, kids. Let's kick it in the ass and get the sixty-degree goodness back. Thankyouverymuch.

I'm vey much immersed in the philosopher Nietzsche now. Reading "Antichrist" by that intellectual madman. Though I can't agree with all that he says about Christianity, I must admit that he's making a good case for his views. If you haven't already checked him out, I strongly urge you to do so. Nietzsche is one of the famous modern philosophers deserving of his status. Forget the fact that the Nazis based their doctrines on his writings -- Nietzsche would have been disgusted with them, you know. They were uncreative, uninventive, and slobbish; they were like the Lion in his "Three Metamorpheses."

Everything I'm typing right now is unconnected. I can't help it. I smell food. And my eyes are sticky. I had a wonderful time last night, for the record. There was much canoodling and happiness. If I could just get that to stretch across another three years, it would be pure bliss. "I'd like to love you but my heart is a sore." Isn't that disturbingly poetic? Maybe it's just me. I can see before me that image. A heart as a sore. Oh, yes...I can see it.

Behave yourselves, darlings. Take care.