Pers

 I'm so annoying it's crazy Also I can't stand this shit The mind of Ant

Today's annoyance: Here are the topics - Wittgenstein          - Philosophical investigations          -  on Certainty     * The world is made up of facts and not of objects          - Picture Theory on Meaning     * language succeeds in making claims about the world because something in common between prepositions and what they picture - Carcajou - Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam *  - Rumi - Town and Country Planning

 Theres so much on the internet. Yet, I try to find more through the physicals of this library. Reasons could be my insecurity, of that need to be seen so to see im walking around. Or I like to rely on coincidence, so to be inspired by something not chosen by me, like some sort of divinity answer. Or there is that zero. I changed my mind. Mood maketh me.  The incoherence of the incoherence.

  Im hurt again Like I always am Like I was always was. I'm scared for myself. I just wish for something. Zero yes or not, Zero or ones. I miss you computer, I miss you life. I miss you some sort of organize. I remember that time when I was younger. When I used to look into the mirror, my nostrils widened and I crazy die. I remember I wash myself, in water on the bed, not making my mother worry, as she is just tired of it all. Has she reached a sort of acceptance? Or what did we make of that word in acceptance? I regurgitate another, this other word, this other meaning. I become you, people of the past. I just want some sort of dimesionality. I remember when I was younger to put and aim a knife to the middle of my torso, not so at my heart. Maybe to split myself in the symettry, maybe to die. To crazy die. I just wish for something.

 I think these keys, this coffee gives me a sense of next second for the one I'm in misery right now. How do I heave? I keep on thinking so. Over and over and over again. At least I like this typing feel. What is love? why Do I live?

  I have put on so many ways of mode to make myself known in ways that I want to. I feel misunderstood all the time and so much so misunderstood by myself.  I tire of living because it all ends up the same. I do not find myself enjoying anything at all, and if I do it lasts as if like a second of a yesterday. Grappling at every hook of time, of moods, of chemicals make me a subtle moment. Guilt maketh me. Guilt maketh me and Traffic jam maketh me. Traffic jam is our death trail. And all that is slow and all that is fast, I grapple and I yearn for but I am never grateful. I feel nothing. I feel nothing so much. I feel nothing. But I yearn so much and I want so much that I want nothing because it is all a disappointment. It is all sad, it is all zero. Zero, zero, zero zero. My lights blind me and my scours tell me, I am rotten. Zero, zero zero. Zero zero zero. Make believe of everything, you misunderstand me, I misunderstand you. I miss you always,  I love you always. I lov...