The Old Familiar Places
2010-03-30, 6:51 p.m.

I can't write. There I said it. Nothing flows easily and I don't know what to do. It seems as though the happiness of finally leaving the hellhole I grew up in, state and all, has put a strain on my creativity.

My sketches, my stories, they're all suffering.

I wonder if suffering is part of art, or if it's just part of life.

"Ich will ficken, nie mehr das alte leid."

Do nothing

Repitition of HatredLoveless AvenueBurn Out (and) Fade Away