I read Mishima, the japanese writer. He says it is difficult to have a good death after thirty. I agree. I know I'll die. I am ok with it. I have outlived many many friends, even at a youthful 40. No one wants a slow lingering death. Smell you later, get a job. |
I think about, if I have the luck, knowing when I have to do something, and having the courage to do it while there's still time. But I don't know. Maybe the courage is the first thing to go. |
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i want to die laughing. |
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the only reason i'd like to know when i'm going to die is so that i can spend the six months or so prior to that eating a lot of chocolate and peanut butter. i don't really care how i'm going to die, but i'd really prefer not to burn to death. |
Six months...six years...sixty years. Same thing. For the entirety of that time Enya's latest album will still be a shit encrusted collection of recycled chords, motifs, and hackneyed rhythms...an attempt either to recapture past inspiration or to pinch another loaf of a CD from an album contract that has outlasted the patience of the contractee. |
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but it ain't. |