Saoi don't Blog; that was the statement. But now I find myself in need. I am forever doing nothing, my endeavours are becoming more commonplace as the days grow dim so in this moment, more than ever I must go back to record what remnants of my mind are left lying in shards on this winter floor, for soon their will be nobody left to listen, and worse still, I may have nothing left to say.

My days as a ennui ridden intellectual sloth are numbered, I am financially autonomous and therefore now devoid of the luxury of contemplation. Even as I type this the morning brings another shift, responsibility and the honor of the humble cog in somebody else's machine. Gone are the night when I could afford to stay up until the bright of the dawn, drinking cheap wine and smoking expensive cigarettes, listening, I mean really listening, to the music of my thoughts, framed by the expanse of the night, the night I owned because few else would stand by my side, and that was okay.

So to prove to myself that pretense and pretension could still be stoked by this self obsessed mind, I will begin again, for the briefest of times, reassemble those arrogant broken pieces of critical endeavours in this most modern of literary conceits.

“I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness, starving hysterical naked, dragging themselves through the negro streets at dawn looking for an angry fix; angel-headed hipsters burning for the ancient heavenly connection to the starry dyn”