item: reading the news makes me depressed. 

item: declining to read the news makes me depressed. 

item: I’m still alive enough to feel like shit. 

item: I will likely die a violent death, but not likely at the hands of the law.

item: I feel embarrassed by my own emotional response to the news: instead of political action motivated by clarifying rage, I want to crawl into bed for at least a month with a man and two bottles of whiskey and three packs of cigarettes and watch old French movies and cry at the car scene in Jules et Jim and then the movie’s over and we don’t have to feel sad anymore, or rather I can feel indulgently sad all I want, because the turmoil of lovers is a different sadness from genocide. 

item: I seem to keep walking from room to room, object to object, tab to tab, knowing I was just about to do something.