The more selfish I act, the less there is of self. Does that make me selfless, then?
I’m on the verge of writing something epic; a novel, short-story, rhyme, or script. Perhaps a script. I want to call it “Elephants and God.” I thought it sounded pretty dope. I have an idea for it. I mean, I would start structuring it now, problem is the proximity between my eye lids is decreasing as we speak. I feel numb. I honestly just don’t know what to do at the moment. You ever feel like you want to do so many things at the very same time, but then get so overwhelmed by the long list of objectives you enveloped that you just find yourself laying down, and instead of actually acting out on at least ONE of the aspirations, you just end up tumblr’ing about it out of angst?
Thankfully, I’m OK. I’m doing just fine here, by my lonesome nonetheless.
