Australians seem unfit to govern themselves.

I am angry. No, let me start over with the right wording to express what I feel at this very moment. I am absolutely livid to the point of being genocidal. You might think of this as nothing new. In a way, you are probably right. I get angry easily. The extent to which some people anger me merely by existing is enormous. But people are never born this way.

More about writing. Specifically, the role of inspiration.

In my previous post, I set out to talk about how real, physical problems in my day to day world were placing a huge burden upon my ability to write, even in this journal. Yes, I know how that sounds, given that I have been churning out words in this journal at a rate that even Stephen King might be impressed by. But I will level with you here: the flow of ideas to mind and the flow of words from fingers to text file suffers terribly when the mind is suffering any form of discomfort.

The deficit between positive interaction and flat-out abuse

I have tried, and I do mean tried, to write two more posts that might mean something to anybody. But I just cannot at present. It is difficult enough to write when one is feeling relatively okay inside and has a collection of ideas (or even just one idea) to write about.