“Have you ever been in love? Horrible isn’t it? It makes you so vulnerable. It opens your chest and it opens up your heart and it means that someone can get inside you and mess you up. You build up all these defenses, you build up a whole suit of armor, so that nothing can hurt you, then one stupid person, no different from any other stupid person, wanders into your stupid life…You give them a piece of you. They didn’t ask for it. They did something dumb one day, like kiss you or smile at you, and then your life isn’t your own anymore. Love takes hostages. It gets inside you. It eats you out and leaves you crying in the darkness, so simple a phrase like ‘maybe we should be just friends’ turns into a glass splinter working its way into your heart. It hurts. Not just in the imagination. Not just in the mind. It’s a soul-hurt, a real gets-inside-you-and-rips-you-apart pain. I hate love.”

– Neil Gaiman

Kui sa ei ole lugenud tema “Head ended” siis sa oled paljust ilma jäänud.

Ma pole ammu enam midagi kirjutanud ja ma ei tea millest see tuleb. Midagi sai nagu otsa vist ja ma ei tea millega uus algab. Osake minust lükkab kirjutama aga ma pole teda juba ammu näost-näkku kohanud. Vanasti juhtus seda sageli, iseenesest. Nüüd aga tundub, et pean kasutama järjest enam abivahendeid.
Alcohol and Narcotics: Life of a Poet?
seda jama küll. ma tegelikult mäletan täpselt kuskohast see algas. väga idootne ja see pole isegi selline lihtne lollus, vaid hale-komistan-asfaldile-veriseks lollus.

üks kunagi kallis inimene küsis, et kas küünik-mart lööb välja või?
praegu ma vaataks talle lihtsalt tühjalt otsa
ja see olekski vist vastus

and to play us out:

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