Just finished The Filth by Grant Morrison.

Now if that isn’t a familiar story, I don’t know what is. Filth read like the chronicle of an acid trip. Reality switching out with the sub-reality created by an intense loss of ego. That’s the problem with LSD, for a few hours you too can feel like a space cop patrolling war between neutrons, however the struggle for asserting The Self ends up being a buzz kill. Who wants to be reminded they’re sitting on a couch when ten seconds ago they were cruising on the back of space dolphins?

I guess what I’m trying to say here is that I liked it, even though the fantastical portion made the “real world” a little dull to read.

After all, it’s not often that reality is as sweet or intense as our dreams.

I caught up on Wolverine v3– the Old Man Logan run, picked up all the one shots I could and snagged a manga inspired version of the Origin story. And I did what I usually do. I read them all in a few hours and have now had to resort to re-reading the novels around my house for a 3rd or 4th time.

I cannot do these following things without reading:
Driving (Passenger, obviously)
Take a bath
Idle
Watch Television
Any event, except ones I’m expected to pay sharp attention too
Wait

– I guess in summary, only the internet and hanging out with friends seems to interrupt my addiction.