Dearest Diary,

I am reading William Faulkner’s Light in August. I hate it. The man views humanity and life as a garbage dump. Corruption and perversion here and there and not a trace of good old fashioned heroism.

He regards Tennyson as "gutless swooning full of sapless trees and dehydrated lusts" forgetting that his own writing is so painfully heartless as to be virtually unreadable. In other words he has contempt for the very thing which could save his horrible story.

I’m nearly done with this awful "Light In August"and the further I get in this story, the more I am thankful for nuclear weapons which give us the power to destroy civilizations such as these.

Better yet, the more I am thankful for mortality so that wretches like Faulkner are only momentary miseries that need only be tolerated by their own misfortunate generation.

If you ever come across a "soul" with such contagious woe as Faulkner, I hope you do the world a favor and put him- and us- out of his misery.

And that is all I have to say for "A Light In August".

Dear Diary,

Time for a mope.

I even want to talk about it. I’ll just embarrass myself. But I’m deeply miserable. I’m too sensitive right now. Maybe it’s cause of the flue. >.< I called Kenny to be sure he wasn’t angry with me. What a dope. I really should have yelled at him, but my voice is too horse. For insulting me last night. And I don’t think he’s even aware of it. Apparently he does this a lot to a lot of people. Actually I knew that already, but I just cant take it right now. I didn’t expect this. It’s so fucked up. I shouldn’t dwell on it.

I’m not making sense. Kenny is a bastard.

Anyway I had planned to bitch at him, but I just ended up inviting him out. WTF?

I’m so going to bitch him out. I have to, to regain my dignity. >(

Fucking low esteem bastard.