Coming Back


seven types of ambiguity|elliot perlman

On my absence.
I know not the time when I’d see this posted.
And that time I won’t pretend that I had been in a soul searching journey. I had been not. Or at least I am not, consciously. I won’t pretend either that this is the universe conspiring for bigger things to happen or anything, I don’t know. Or more accurately, I don’t know what to believe in anymore. So with these posts and the incoming poems that I managed to write down on infrequent moments of lucidity and possibly mediocrity… (I lost train of thought so I don’t know how to go on with this).

So yeah. That’s probably it. I guess.

I’ve been re-reading this novel, and it gets me everytime. The level of identification that I have for this novel and for its characters is really suspicious for me. I highly suspect that it is quite too much for my own good. But I’m not my own psychiatrist.



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