As I smoke a cigarette, looking down from my ledge, I see a man drive. Unable, entirely, to stay within the boundaries of the painted guide-lines. You have to wonder what was going on in his head. How does he see the world? What does his ghost sense?
Looking down on him in condescension, I simply do not care. For his world matters not. Though why not? Shouldn’t it?
He’s fucking up.
- David Foster Wallace, Infinite Jest.
Tim Burton: "He was so desperately in love with Winona, that when they broke up, he wouldn’t admit it was over for the longest time."
>walked to dicks
>there was cops
>talked shit to drunk people that drove there
>they talked shit back
>they got arrested [unconfirmed, but assumed]
I can’t deal with with sitting still anymore. Have to always be doing something. The only way I can deal with reality now is by doing everything objectively. Otherwise everything shatters.