Why is it that I go out, just to have my predetermined passé feelings of this city surface up all over again. Une petite drama, pour aucune raison. I'd rather stay home and pretend I'm a cartoon. Fantasize of all the things I'd do, if I were that very cartoon.
Perhaps I could take this life I live, and animate it so that whenever I feel wild, whenever I feel out of this world, I can just tune in. Nuances given a new view. Sit back and watch me whirl. Sit back and watch yourself for awhile.
Here I am. I don't look real. I don't feel real. Real is just a word that we made up to get along with ourselves. We call our language "real". But we also made it up, organized it from complete gibberish. Language is primarily used to confuse; to diffuse all the wrong types of news.