I am not made for this world.
I am resigned to a simpler future, in which i shall roam the welsh valley’s in animal hinds and silk. Living in archaic hut made of the earth. With nothing but a bed, book case, and wind up vinyl player. I will spend my days lost in Tolstoy and my evenings deciphering Chaucer, unwinding to Motown and getting messy with peanut butter blues and melancholy jam.. I will spend days pondering the meaning of life. I will hunt small animals and forage for delectable plants. I will adopt a more ethereal abstract name like winter bark or morning dew. I will truly succombe to the Id and it will be good.
