Amid all the buzz about a black president in a white country, Crichton is dead.
'Nuff said.
When words fail to describe the indescribable feel of feelings, I would eventually lose that feeling of loss that I'm feeling right now. Which is a pity. A loss. Right now, I don't know which to feel sader about.
Maybe 10 years from now, I would look back and define this moment to which I've read my last serious novel for pleasure.
Labels: FFT (Food for thought), Whine






