Since yesterday my ma and pa and, by extension, I have been babysitting my brother's six kids. Lots of noise and running around and shit like that. Sometimes I feel that being back in Saint Louis is nice cos I can be around the kids, sometimes....

Showed the kids Spirited Away, which they liked, and then the older kids stayed up to watch The Matrix, which was also enjoyed. I kinda wanted to show them The Big Lebowski, but I get the impression that the reaction would've been "huh? I don't get it."

So I'm unemployed again. Sitting around the house and stewing in a vat of self doubt and worry. When I read I sometimes get descriptions that I think are of what I'm thinking/feeling...a sense of being hopelessly lost, of being stuck in the middle of a giant, dimly-lit maze while an endless acid bassline endlessly loops. Your brain is moving along at slightly too high a temperature, and no matter which corner you cross, you're still in the labyrinth.

Which reminds me of David Bowie wearing powder blue tights. Is this the thought which haunts young Raskolnikov? David Bowie's bulging batch?