Be wary of Mozart

I walk around my cold apartment, haunted by photographs-images, bubbling up memories of my past; where's my future. Rare rays of Seattle sunshine filter through my blinds. It's quiet here, only me, this computer and my cats.

Mozart is pouring out of my speakers: Quando Corpus Morietur & Amen. It's fucking depressing, this song. The prepubescent choir boys are chilling with their soprano voices; the organ, bringing up visions of creepy gothic cathedrals, that are there for salvation and to invoke peace, but just remind me of evil.

I think it's time for me to escape outside.