what the fuck is with the guy, and why has he not packed his damn bags and leave?
or even better,
what the fuck is with me, and why am i not enforcing rent fees? because my cerebral space is not fucking free, eh? it’s not.
in the early mornings today after i woke up (grudgingly) from that rather pleasant dream (again, i have to grudgingly admit) i read some sort of a quote collection of Neruda’s. in it, one of them sounds like this: “I searched, but no one else had your rhythms, your light, the shady day you brought from the forest; Nobody had your tiny ears.” and i’m pretty sure Pablo meant to direct that rather feminine gesture to one of his lady friends that held a particularly dear place in his heart, but it reminded me of him. because Winston had such tiny ears, that it was very disproportionate to his big head. but i liked it, and his dinosaur-esque features… i liked that too. he just didn’t like me.
Lord i just need to move on. please help me move on, it’s been too long.