My quiescence desensitizes. Zombie-like I skate through life half-heartedly waiting to fuck up, waiting to be forced to change, subconsciously calling for it, eagerly. It's not happening. I endure in patience praising vice as virtue. Dreamily I stall hoping to find someone willing to plunge in with me or someone on the other side reaching his arm out towards me. No one is there. No one is coming. Change may not come slowly but it can be forced brutishly.
The difficulty no longer lies in giving all this up. I feel at last ready to do that. The difficulty lies in that there is nothing to replace it with, nothing but the one escape I must not give in to.
(Minimum 15 entries per month (versus previous desire of 20). One a week must be film related.)
The difficulty no longer lies in giving all this up. I feel at last ready to do that. The difficulty lies in that there is nothing to replace it with, nothing but the one escape I must not give in to.
(Minimum 15 entries per month (versus previous desire of 20). One a week must be film related.)
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