As is the case for many hip modern urbanites, my life seems to consist of long periods of boredom and self-loathing punctuated by brief bursts of frenetic, often booze-fuelled, activity.
In the listless moments in between, I find myself asking questions, like
Why does beauty make you cry?
Should ugliness make you laugh?
What would it be like to be someone else?
Is music the most profound art form?
Where can I get really good fish and chips?
The beginning of the week encourages this sort of enquiry. I think I'll go outside and stand in the rain for a while to cool my philosophical cockles.
What's for dinner, beatch?
In the listless moments in between, I find myself asking questions, like
Why does beauty make you cry?
Should ugliness make you laugh?
What would it be like to be someone else?
Is music the most profound art form?
Where can I get really good fish and chips?
The beginning of the week encourages this sort of enquiry. I think I'll go outside and stand in the rain for a while to cool my philosophical cockles.
What's for dinner, beatch?
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