In my days there is only one way to measure the time, by the speed and status of the movie playing next to the screen. An hour is only the time it takes for the girl to realize that she's fallen for the main guy so time must move more slowly for me. If I am to live by its rules then shouldn't I be more productive?
Music and movies and nourishment flow through me without any pleasure. Their comforts are numb and nonexistent. But I remember how it felt before to listen to things and create. It's the ghost of the past that keeps me firmly stuck in their ways.
Nobody Wins
