I was just brushing up on my psychology, listening about Freud and all, when it struck me.
I am angry with god for the fact that he doesn't exist. My magic-seeking Id lies in darkness, curled up, weeping while the rest of me's having the time of its life. The rest knows it'll pass.
The animal within likes sex too much. And other taboos. Ungodly things.
But still.
Oh, Sigmund...where would we be hadn't it been for your wisdom?
PS Where would an old, manual Nikon 50mm/1.8 E series hit in this picture if it had an AF?
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