When it’s a beautiful day, I get scared of the light.

I think we underestimate the Sun.

It give us strength, power, warmth, life.

But have you ever thought that this power can strike us down when it wishes? And one day it will.

It’s like watching the Devil rise and fall day by day. A sigh of relief when it turns dark. Safe for another day.

No more sun dances, no more deities.

 

Oh well.

Wear your shorts, wear your flip-flops, wear your Ray-Bans.

We’re all fucked anyway.

I said to myself that...

...I'd be active at writing, on here. Say a post every other day, but three weeks later...

...nothing.

Many things to talk about, but like a morning glory, the moment passes and turns rather small and flaccid. 

Just like missing a blog. 

Does it really matter when the timing of words becomes irrelevant? 

It shouldn't do. It just depends on the material, whether your writing is captivating enough or ideally a combination of the two.

Good subjects have run away into the haze.

My birthday, physical problems, psychological problems, physical problems causing psychological problems and the general ordeal of being in a place and skin that you feel isn't making any sense.

Cheer up you bastard.