I Don't Have Lungs Anymore!

It's Such A Bullshit Move. Transparently So. It's Obviously Supposed To Give Succor To People Who Feel Pissed Off Because Someone From Another Country Got A Job That They Feel Should've Been Given To Them. But That's What People Voted Against Here. They Voted Against The Movement Of Labor - That Kind Of Fluidity - Because They Want A Britain That No Longer Exists, And They Can't Get It.

Of Course People Are Angry. Generation Upon Generation Had Jobs At Steel Mills Or Whatever - Things Were Going On And It Looked Like It Would Always Be That Way. And Then There's These Cataclysmic Changes And People Find Themselves Out On Their Arse And They're Angry And They Want Answers. But One Thing That's For Sure Is That Those Answers Will Not Come In The Form Of Donald J. Trump.

My Drive To Put Myself On The Line Comes From Boredom. From That Feeling When You Go To Bed And Think, 'what Did I Do Today?' It Doesn't Have To Be Something Monumental, Just A Feeling That You Really Tried To Look At Something, Or Look Into Something.

You Can See Desperation In People Who Are Too Eager To Laugh Because They're In Such A Hurry Not To Look At What's Confronting Them In Their Lives And That's Kind Of Sad Because There's A Kind Of Pornographic Aspect To It, Of Making Some Sort Of Pain Go Away, Of Hovering Around A Pain, Making Yourself Numb, Not Feel Anything.

I'm Very Drawn To Eastern Europe, So I Like A Hungarian Writer Who Wrote In French Called Emil Cioran; He Was Always Good For Giving Me Such A Stir.