The last couple of weeks felt like a continuous brisk jog. It wasn't busy till you swear you'd drop dead, but it's impossible to try to strike up a conversation while I'm huffing and puffing.

Saw There Will Be Blood. Found it quite disturbing. Is there no limit to the mutations of human morality? Daniel Day-Lewis' is such an alien creation that I found it difficult to imagine this person functioning in real life - no friends, no family - all there exists is a desire for more power and money, so that he could get even further away from other people.

You hate yourself. You hate everyone else. Is it possible to exist in such a void in reality? I suppose so.

Picked up Patricia Highsmith's The Blunderer from the library. Another disturbing piece of work, and probably one of her earlier ones. Still, it was good. Makes me wanna reread her work, but most of it has disappeared from the libraries.

Currently reading Joe Hill's 20th Century Ghost, which I picked up out of curiousity. Pleasantly surprised to find how good it is - it's amazingly awesome. Almost immediately I noticed certain similiarities in the narration but most amazing is that he is able extract the same style of living, breathing characterization as his dad.

Does this kind of talent travel in genes? Or is it just influence?

What a curious thought.