I feel as if I'm living my life in 3rd person.

I waste too much of my time on contemplation, and it gets me nowhere.

Everything in my life would be so much better if that damn jesus wasn't putting voodoo hexes on me. All the bad things that happen to me stem from that damn deity and his damn infatuation with witchcraft.

I wish I was special.

Well, on friday some little ICP kid spit at me, and then hid behind a bigger one. I eventually exacted a violent revenge consisting of holding him by the throat in the boys bathroom and yelling at him about how he disrespected my family's honor. The whole fiasco was rather funny ( Read more... )

I had a moment of inspiration the other night before I went to bed, and wrote a slanderous poem towards the ICP kids. Here it is:

( My ICP Ordeal )

For some reason I always have this jittery feeling that is somewhere between being bored half to death and being on the verge of spontaneous combustion. I can't ever convey the message I aim to express, I fail to evoke any emotions or feelings the way I desire to, and I am always oh so close to finding the right words that are just out of reach, ( Read more... )

We are all characters in somebody else's dream.

I just hope no one wakes up.


( Read more... )

"There were moments when he looked on evil simply as a mode through which he could realize his conception of the beautiful ( Read more... )

Other people's lives seem more
interesting cause they aint mine.

I have this growing desire to expand my mind in mid-december.

Anyone have any psilocybin mushrooms I can just..... borrow.

I want to be beautiful.

-two bags of grass ( Read more... )

Who's that casting devious stares in my direction?