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George R. R. Martin takes a very long to write his books.

Some people think that Martin will die before he finishes.

And sometimes I think of how many people died before getting to read the next book.

Ah it's very sad that there are so many fishhooks floating around in the sea where any little guppy can impale himself on them, and for what? To let the bottomfeeders have a nice meal? There's a lot I don't understand about the ocean and least of all is the fact that it's so big.

The vastness of that body of water makes it really awkward to navigate unless you've got a knowledge of the stars and a sextant, or just a GPS. Speaking of which land navigation is a really good discipline and I wish I'd gone in for Scouts when I had the chance but let's be honest that sort of thing isn't really my style to begin with and in any case it's too late now.

I read Solzhenitsyn's Day in the Life, and it's actually a pretty good analogy for the sort of thing I'm feeling. That is, I'm feeling like four ounces of bread sewed into the sawdust of a prison camp mattress.

That's a pretty nice four ounces of bread, especially when a person hasn't had any bread for a long time. Bread is a great, excellent, perfect thing to consume when it's soft and sweet like a brioche but it's also quite good as a sourdough though I admit the tougher crust is a turn-off. Things that are easy to chew really ease the burden of having to eat things, which when you consider it is a rather contradictory position to take since I'm fairly certain that expecting comfort while consuming food violates the immediate reality that without constantly consuming food you'd die so comfort would be a little secondary and yet the diverse sorts of food available now make it possible to pick and eat whatever you like so that problem is somewhat mitigated though not always to the benefit of the person consuming the food because nutritionally what's easiest to chew and swallow isn't always what's healthiest take for example a moist and delicious cake baked with a substantial quantity of butter which will slide down your throat like it was a liquid but will ultimately leave behind its mark on your waistline.

With that behind us let me take a second to suggest the intrinsic value of giving a fuck. It really happens to be the only source of intrinsic value. Fuck.