The hard murderous relentlessness of trying not to. Trying not to get bored, trying not to say the wrong thing, trying to be the best human one can and learning to fit in. The non stop savage buffonery makes for a vast, vehement historical cartoon, with every member of its bafflingly large club a hyperanimated grotesque. To really try and attempt a sleight of hand and hide the self perceived sociopathy but seemingly failing at every turn. Tricks rumbled, movement spotted, the relentless effort to appear as caring as I actually feel; to show interest when all he feels is disinterest and boredom in all our modest lives; with smaller routines and large drug habits. The urge to write, anything, driving him more than any other thing, more than any other thing. It has to come out somewhere, in some manifestation. If not rage then sage if not energised then pulverised.