What am I some kind of new age yuppie existentialist? Nay, I am a pirate, crucified on the pillars of apathy. A fat pacific tuna, drifting through the waters of a french film noir. An anxious floorboard in Ted Nugent’s abandoned Manhatten loft. An enigma. You think you know me, but you don’t, you never will. You have no idea what I’m saying, or why I accompanied this post with an insultingly out of season ice cream illustration. When you are crying in your car on the way to work tomorrow you remember that feeling. Nothing means anything, and so everything means something.
And if today you let a sink in, make sure it’s not that.