A writer of things.


Stuff I do. Stuff I like. Stuff I think about.

There has never been a time in which I have been convinced from within myself that I am alive. You see, I have only such a fugitive awareness of things around me that I always feel they were once real and are now fleeting away. I have a constant longing, my dear sir, to catch a glimpse of things as they may have been before they show themselves to me. I feel that then they were calm and beautiful. It must be so, for I often hear people talking about them as though they were.
— Franz Kafka, Conversation with the Supplicant (via mirroir)
Eddie WrightComment