http://facebook.com/diaphoramagazine - independent -
If I ever got famous for writing something, it’d be a translation of the feeling of pronoia turning into paranoia, or vice versa. It’s this feeling that’s like… always hanging out on the outskirts of my mind, bumming cigarettes and busking out there, you know? And sometimes it gets up the money to go into the city of my mind and it performs there in the comedy clubs, and the people, they just eat that shit up, and it’s a good time until everyone gets sick of him and they throw him back outta town. And this feeling is always the same, paranoia or pronoia, but it’s awful, it grips my whole body and there’s this feeling, like I just know all these problems I’m having aren’t real, but they’re there and these delusions I’m having aren’t real and I know they aren’t real but boy oh boy am I going to have to have to learn to live with the fact that while they were happening they were real, they were real to me and I have to live...
↧