Journal
The bloodbank
I write bad, neurotic, and sometimes psychotic poetry...rants, raves...mini entries about the suckage of life in general...sometimes there are short bouts of hilarity and confusion...but in general this journal is really a thing of great vanity. It is where I shall wallow in my beautiful and oh-so-trendy self-loathing, complain about the futility of the universe and the incomprehensible fact of my vain attempts to understand it, despite the knowledge that I never will know everything. I am an egotistic agnostic, who thinks she knows everything about knowing nothing at all.
This Journal is sucking out your soul through an alien implant into outer space and through a black hole to another dimension called !dWkffff$$kr-gw4rgt% where an identical copy of you is drinking too much coffee in front of a blue screen of death.
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Arguments are to be avoided; they are always vulgar and often convincing. -Oscar Wilde
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