A couple of my favorite books are China Mieville: The Scar and M. John Harrison: Light.
I used to write here and there, haven't done it in a long time. Most of it got deleted when my old computer died. I recovered a few bits and pieces. Here's a bit:
Most of my once valuable ties, relationships I grew and cultivated with care and patience, friends for whom I have loved, all have languished and withered on the tenuous vines of my apathy. This is a page in my life. Do I turn that page? Do I let the past die and forgo the indignation of humility or humiliation; do I attempt to retie the loosening knots and just accept the frayed ends?
I am turning the page. It's a burden at once lifted, and yet a dark cloud will loom forever in the back of my mind. I am moving on. I want something less real, possibly manufactured? A synthesized state of being, a material from outer-space, one that is impossibly durable and flexible and void of emotion. This is what I will wear over my cold skin.
Welcome to my imaginary life.
