Cold places and things and stuff.

I am still back from Patagonia. I don't think that i like that fact at all.

I told Tom about Explosions in the Sky and their connotations with Nine-Eleven. It was all too much for Tom, he had to go home. We are all fed up with doominess, except for most of us, who are only pretending to be fed up with doominess. Those are the ones who will devote more time to the soundtracks.

Despite my likings for exotic places, i do not want to move anywhere next, and especially i do not want to stay here either. It is the debaclest of debacles.

Lately i am feeling very old, older than even thirty, which is already very old. Even when i was in my little tent at the other side of the world, i was feeling very old, older than a few decades.

I have been reading Cloud Atlas, finally. I am up to the last chapter. Heather recommended Cloud Atlas. It is my favourite book in decades. I can't wait to finish it, except that there will be nothing to read after it, maybe. In one part, it is far far far into the future, on Hawaii, and everyone is talking in the brokenest redneck dialects. There is no God.

I read Robinson Crusoe during lunches in the fifth grade. It was complicated.

It was about being all alone on an island, until Friday showed up.

But even Friday is a savage. Savages are only half-good company.

I like sleeping.

Maybe someday i will not like to write into my blog anymore.