i need to get away from the tranquils of fabricated melancholy. up to what point does a crown royal on the rocks decide my mood for the better? even a room overflowing with artificial breasts and milky soft skin from vegas strippers can breed complacency of the senses. the dilution of your pain by designer drugs, the artificial social ills that compound themselves into your burdens, the eventual blindness brought by routine. cities are sometimes prefabricated, and to enjoy solely for what you can see and touch is as dangerous as feeding alka seltzer to the pidgeons.
i adore the isolation of travel, the ability of journeys to put you back where you belong by taking you out of it to begin with. i like getting out of routine. basking in the grandeur of the random. chance makes the situation ironically prefabricated to a degree of omnipotence.
unfortunately, these thought farts lead you to a dead end. thanks for wasting your time at lovine.com :)