how deep is your love

i find it difficult to find joy in the great news i received today. how wicked is that? how immoral? how wrong.

i wanna paint a picture. give me oils and paints to stain my canvas with my pain and suffering. for, it will never end. therefore there will be no end to the creativity that springs forth from the sic endless depthless well of torment. this wasnt my idea, friends and neighbours.

to all you curious souls out there, im reading the world's greatest horror stories at the moment. [no, really, thats the title of the book] anyway, some of the tales are quite beautifully written. but, alas, not all horror tales incite the terror that they should. which is a pity. some are rather mundane. so, naturally, i ask myself, how could these possibly be the best?? i need to get out more, im sure.

time for me to be off into the wild blue-grey yonder. i want that journalist to type me up a blog of a dark desolate, slightly damp night. it should reek of omnipotent terror. it should be impregnanted with the stench of impending doom. paint me that picture, dear wordsmith. and, i will gouge myself and wreak havok upon my scathed canvas!

hmm - maybe i should give him a comment to that effect.

i think i shall.

me out.