I’m bored to death of everything. Nothing thrills me. Men, whisky, cigarettes, it’s all fleeting-superficial, nothing but tediousness and dread. I’m tired of meaningless one night lovers. I’m tired of forced conversations. I’m tired of forced friendships. I’m tired of forced living. I’m repulsed by the taste of wine. Poetry is draining. Art is bewildering. There aren’t any storms in my life. The seas are calm. I feel dead.