right in point! this is the lack of fresh red blood, literally and figuratively, resulting in a contemplative, introspect, placid and FAT - - existence of me. In need of some barbarous intrusion, some fighting for basics. The pendulum still swings between the impulse to play and the one to work. Yet play leads to destruction, ultimately. Yet what doesn't, ultimately?
i ll try to extract from the despair reading sth of Eros to cheer meself up...eh - -
