He woke up on a day like any other crawling out of his cave-lair like an earthworm blind and cold surrounded by the enveloping grey neglect that was his room. Poor Eugene. Poor, poor Eugene. Sunlight thudded silently on the lone square window boarded up with cardboard and a deep-seated resignation pertaining to the brighthappy day outside. And the world whispered in his ear, "go away! go away and never come back!" I daresay it was possibly a misanthropic fly buzzing close to his ear laden with boisterous diseases of the soul but Eugene perceived it differently. So what was Eugene to do? Poor, poor Eugene. Poor, decrepit Eugene. His receding hairline was all that he had, his gleaming bag of diamonds and rainbows. His vibrant, actively receding hairline. Poor, poor Eugene. Poor, aging Eugene.
" Do I include the World in my miseries? It is there, sure, waiting, waiting, waiting for me to come to a proper, democratic, unanimous conclusion. It stares at me with famineblue eyes challenging my degeneration. Do I stand strong? Do I dare? The scent of all its grief and all its wars unceasingly draws deep lines and caves under my eyes. It is one thing to go against the world, or the world against you, or love against grief, or grief against plunder...but alas, now it is a mere heartfelt pause that resides in my isolation. My conscience, he chuckles, and sips his wine. Poor, poor Eugene. Poor, dead Eugene.
" Do I include the World in my miseries? It is there, sure, waiting, waiting, waiting for me to come to a proper, democratic, unanimous conclusion. It stares at me with famineblue eyes challenging my degeneration. Do I stand strong? Do I dare? The scent of all its grief and all its wars unceasingly draws deep lines and caves under my eyes. It is one thing to go against the world, or the world against you, or love against grief, or grief against plunder...but alas, now it is a mere heartfelt pause that resides in my isolation. My conscience, he chuckles, and sips his wine. Poor, poor Eugene. Poor, dead Eugene.
