The Sins of Our Fathers Come Back to Haunt Us.



I bet by the above line you thought I'd have something important to say. Well, I don't. I actually can't think of anything at all to write about. So, here I am typing about nothing.

My world is at an impasse and the boat the follows the currents can't keep rowing if all the ores are just big fish.

Once again. The above statement had no meaning. It's just a bunch of words thrown together by the incoherent being that is my brain. If my brain is incoherent how can I still be typing right now? This I don't know. It's like watching a moth being drawn into a candle and seeing it has it gets burned, but yet it still keeps coming back to that candle. And if it goes back to that candle enough times, it may be finally scorched.

But somehow I'm here typing about typing. Typing about nothing. Typing = Nothing. The truth unto the world.

Ergo....Visa Vie...Concordantly....Ya know what? I have no idea what I'm saying.