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Tonight i stumbled across an old post of mine from May 2006 with search words "flies on poop". Cuz i was feeling like even if i was equivalent to poop i was not getting a fair share of flies. And i wanted to see if i'd ever blogged about that. Cuz who wants redundancy?

I hadn't. But the old post stunned me, it was so fucking profound. It was like reading someone else's writing. I mean back then i actually had something to say. It was actually good.

The other day as i was mulling over interpretation of possible hidden meanings, i couldn't even remember the term hermeneutics. And i didn't have the first clue how to look it up. I just froze. And let it slide. I was getting sloppy : (

Just now i was listening to Colm MacIomaire's remake of "Everytime":

Every time i try to fly
i fall
Without my wings i feel
so small

Not only do i feel insignificant, my world has significantly shrunk.

And this is evident in the lack of room for exegeses in my recent text.