Pers

I keep saying there are brain fog, do I try to keep the real again? The real is that I've been liking soy milk, been uncomfortably boring, not bored as much, not knowing time, I am as young as before. I like soy milk though, I like how it looks grey, but it's this specific drink; VSOY barley, purple, something? It looks like concrete. I'm still mistrusting everything in connection based. I mistrust in myself. I think so much in words, and pleasure myself so much in sounds.  I'm listening to 2 hollis, energy surge. Maybe it's like just this is it. I think it has something to do with me not praying too actually. 

I am always trying to reach myself, trying to make sense of things because I know I am not smart. Why am I constantly reaching for my desires that at the same time I do not desire? I feel like I am locked within things that destroy me and ruin me and does not let me know what is the greater good, that fulfills the good too rather than excuse it. The people that loves their ego into non-stop fear fulfilling life of survival, non-stop survival.  Right now I am inside my room and I am good. I have good music, and my health is at a soothe with a 7% menthol candy I suck. I had just taken a shower and my bed is at the coziest relationship with my skin. My relationships of myself and others denies itself of my desires are so far-fetched. I am delusional for thinking what is good. For thinking inputting good into people is good. I mean, I am not all holy. Even for action like murder, I think telling people to not murder or cause pain does not make me good. That's what I mean. I've give...

 Maybe I have been mean!!! But I know for sure I need a gun, a hypothetical gun to shoot at my loved ones' opps. I don't give a shit. Let me know!!!! I am angry at all there is because I blame them, I blame everyone for how I turned out. I blame everyone for who I am. I blame my design. BLAME is so fun!! It is the truth for everything!! and I am more than I am not. WHEN I am not. And then I will kill everyone inside of me, the everyone of me who I am. There is no one else to kill except me! Except me! because you are SO AMAZING!!!! Fuck you you fuck!! I am not this person I am not me. I was not like this. I was not like this I was not like this I was not like this. LET MY FATE BE DIFFERENT THAN WHAT I ALLOWED FOR. YOU HAVE LIED SO MUCH. LIED TOO MUCH TOO BE TRUE. SO what! Complain for what! Let me take them down embarassingly so I will be humbled after, and then I'll complain and then ILL DIE ILL DIE ILL DIE BUT I WONT BECAUSE YOU HATE ME> SO MUCH THAT I AM NO LONGER AN ...

there is that one time I had just prayed then I looked outside and my bed because that fine time I was wishing for a life where I can be with you and a child, and the animals in a small house, of no other of no nexts but something called out to me this is a test to be gotten out of like a certain death like I should be out out, out, out and that once I am out then we are all out

 Logic is the new magical thinking. Our ancestors died when they have decided that certain things mean the end of it, its death. When you are sad to the core and kills the self for it, it is the end of it. When sickness hit you, the plague is unstoppable, it is the end of it. When war or raging higher up men, powers you, it is the end of it. Until a logic man comes up and tells all of it, this taxonomical life. You are not sad, you have depression, it is just a fact and not the end of it. You are not sick to die, you have a sickness, it is just fact and not the end of it. You are not a soldier, it is just fact, and political boundaries can be changed by rigorous action, it is not the end of it. Logic is optimism at the not dying. It is just how we kept on living. It is how we increase the average age of living. 

I am at an absolute death. At an absolute death. But I am afraid of dying. But I don't want to be the best person. I can't keep up being a super good person like an everyday tick of a calendar. I can't be that constant sisyphus of Good, it's the only boulder this proverbial can't roll. I get so bad at writing. I get so bad at being. But I don't want to be bad, guilt knows something I don't. Guilt knows something that was not familiar with me. Though he himself is inside me. I'm wrapped up stickified lollipop-like of a guilt based substance.  I blame my curly hair, I blame my asymmetrical face, I blame the bodies of other people, I blame my rotten brain, I blame it all on everything that is existing within and before the context of falling out of a coconut tree. I can't live, am I wrong to keep you here? am I wrong to think we can be healthy? am I wrong to think I can have you? am I wrong to think this life is not it? It's all everywhere, that my ...