An unedited stream of consciousness from a confusing time. When words were not enough—lines set in ink became the work of fabricated tales.
I've recently discovered the secrets of time travel from a journal I wrote to myself in the year 2039. When I'm not talking complete gibberish I work as a graphic designer who takes his RSS feed addiction seriously, talks about popcorn with way too much passion, and is on a never ending battle to defend his cat's reputation as a ghost communicator. For realZ.