A Stark realization

for a fixable problem. I don't really act the way I should. It's blatantly obvious that I lead a life of sloth, irresponsibility and unhappiness. Now that lifestyle is impeding the happiness of others around me. I am, by definition, a virus. Now is the time for action. time to take control. time to let myself let myself go.

this life is killing me. killing others.

#Ijustwannaberich

I am so glad nobody reads this.

Because if they did, everyone would finally see what an twisted, soulless sonofabitch i've become over the years. I hate damn near everything, if only just a little bit. I, like many others, want to run away to a shack in the woods and never see anyone again. I won't do it. I have more to live for than a hobos mindless rambling existence. I have people to demoralize, causes to spit upon, couples to openly mock.


I am so glad nobody reads this.

Because I love the asshole life. Being disagreeable and hard to manage is the best thing ever. Even my best friend won't talk to me today. She's a little pissed off at the world too, only she's decided to run away like a little punk bitch. I told her as much, and I meant it. She wants to escape her problems and run to california, like some displaced flower child. Boo. Fucking. Hoo. you have problems. wah, wah, wah. yeah, running away gets rid of those particular ones, but knowing you, you'll set up a whole new shitty existence in cali.


Someone once told me that all people are basically rotten. evil. I think I see what they meant by that. People want to be good. but can't. there's something driving us to be assholes. alpha males and females. Bastards. Some of us embrace it and accept it. I want to associate only with these people, because they are the only ones in the world whom I can stand for any extended period of time.


Fuck the rest of you.



Grow up.




Stop acting like an innocent little child when you know what you are.





You're a fucking asshole. Deal with it.

Ad Nauseam

Life trundles along at an unassuming and patently uninteresting pace. I can no longer see the point in hopes and dreams. Sounds emo, I know, but it's not despair. I don't feel like life will forever be shit. I just know it will never be great. I mean, sure I had hopes for a better lifestyle. better living situation. I had dreams, some very public, others incredibly private. so private, i've never even shared them with anyone I've known.

That particular one is the worst of the bunch. I swear, it's like an old war wound that still twinges at the sight of the battlefield. still... It, like all the others, must go. I cannot afford to stick my head in the clouds any longer than I already have. People change. Life speeds up, if only slowly. I will never achieve what I have in my head as true happiness.

and you know something, life, you asshole?

I don't even feel sad about it.

Matter of fact, I don't feel anything about it at all.

and on that note.

'pity this busy monster, manunkind' pity this busy monster, manunkind, not. Progress is a comfortable disease: your victim (death and life safely beyond) plays with the bigness of his littleness --- electrons deify one razorblade into a mountainrange; lenses extend unwish through curving wherewhen till unwish returns on its unself. A world of made is not a world of born --- pity poor flesh and trees, poor stars and stones, but never this fine specimen of hypermagical ultraomnipotence. We doctors know a hopeless case if --- listen: there's a hell of a good universe next door; let's go E. E. Cummings