this is a written account of a mumblecore

This is not so I could make sense of everything. If anything, that would hint a desperate act of deus ex machina. Simply because such a bold move would require guts, and as of the moment, I have none. If memory serves me right, I last saw them swimming in a bowl of excrements. Happily at that.
 

THIS is so I could attempt to make sense of now. This trivial “today” that I know would prove to be monumental when age would catch me in a rocking chair waxing nostalgic over this one moment in my life - a scene straight from a mumblecore when nothing seems to make sense.

In reality, this blog need not be explained. It was simply conceived on whim. Nothing else.