Most of the time, after writing for about decade now and taking it seriously, I'm starting to think I have a grasp on how it should be done, however vague the notion, it's coming into the clear.
But still, sometimes, I really think I have no fucking idea what I'm talking about and that none of this makes any sense.
"future beef" - No one cares about the slaughterhouse cow. You like them after they're killed by someone else, washed clean, cut up and packaged for easy consumption. You'll like me better after I'm dead.
I hated the city for a long time. All the traffic, all the noise, and the fact that there are just too many people. When one is misanthropic, these things tend to keep you away. But over the years, I've gradually acclimated myself to enjoying it. A part of me even wants to move there. But how I long to hit the road and just SEE this enormous country and all the beauty and wonder that is still present. I've never been out West, never seen the vast wilderness of uninhabited lands, never seen a desert, the Rockies or the Pacific.
"Growin' old and I wanna go home..."
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