Troubled. I am writing this blog because I am troubled.

Why am I troubled? There's no real 'good' reason behind it. Plethora upon a plethora of reasons bug the ever living shit outta me, but no matter which one I choose to dissect, none of them ever appear, or reveal, to be a good enough reason.

The thing that troubles me now, on December the nineteen, at six o' clock, in two-thousand and eighteen, is the death of Harlan Ellison.

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