Write what's on your mind

Write what's on your mind

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no

life is too fast 20 years 20 years more faster this time old man heart attack dead nothing accomplished

I wasted my life becoming a lawyer. I will never write my book. I will continue working and working and working until suddenly, without warning, I die having accomplished nothing important.

Now that I know magick is real I can't think of anything I want to do with it. It was more interesting to just study it and use my accumulated dilettante points to troll people. I don't want to be a person who actually does things, goddamnit, I'm too lazy.

Better to just leave it alone.

Fly around and shoot fireballs.

Nobody ever listens, such is the way of the world

Better for whom?

(You)

I know that things can always get worse, but part of me is curious to see how much worse. I suppose I already know, more or less, but I hate living with a Sword of Damocles over my head. Part of me would rather it just fall and destroy me.

I've been living in the moment, the now, lately. Happiest I've been in months, maybe years. But why do I feel like such a faggot saying it? Why do these words in this combination, this sentiment expressed, sound effete, hippie, gay, lame? Would the average person from the past look at the average person from the present, and just think "what a pussy bitch"?

>Now that I know magick is real

Ask yourself what else isn't real, and what is.

I've never been receptive to people who try impossible alchemies with me at my expense.

Paddock was set up

I can't stop writing genre fiction please send help.

Pic related has so much meme potential

I know this feel mate, Its mostly pointless.

If guy debord was clarified butter he'd be ghee debord

Could you write a book,a manual that contains universal recipes of listening to music?

Tim Piazza could've been saved had people superseded his will of associating with his murderers and treated him as an ignorant victim BEFORE he died.

I'm thinking about those beans.

youtu.be/ozqdqnyusjw

Let the planet fucking boil,
Let the planet fucking boil,
Let the planet booooooooooooooooiiiiiiiiiiiiiilllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllll

I like this image a lot

This is why open people should not be lawyers.

Im hungry for beans now.

burning man is so tight

i was doing good but trying to think something to write down here made me sad

Open people? What is that?

Then my mission is accomplished.

Let the bodies hit the floor,
Let the bodies hit the floor,
Let the bodies hit the floooooooooooooooooooarrrrhhhhhhhhhhhhhh

im trying to come up with whats on mind mind, right now, is the only question poping up right now. Other than that, why shouldnt we just an [ ] ourself and GG?

"Protagonist! would you like to go on an epic quest full of adventure, excitement and peril in order to save the world?" exclaimed the herald.
"Not really" said the protagonist.
"W-why not?" asked the herald, visibly shaken.
"I don't feel like it;" moaned the protagonist "I'm tired".

The anti-christ is coming. God is an idealist. Even the minutest of anti-christ crimes represent a great destruction.

I wrote three chapters of my book only to find out it pretty much exists word for word. FML

Angels:
Demons:
Insight:
Confusion:
Memes:
This side UP

I was cast into a void, a void of darkness. The darkness turned to dull light, then again into streaks of blinding white heat as I fell closer. The light singed my eyes, burning them into the sockets. It felt like a grapefruit spoon scraping into the frayed ends of my nerves, sending agonizing needles of light and heat into my brain. I impacted the ground, collapsed to a rough floor, and clamped my hands to the seared pits in which eyes once lay. My fingernails dug into my forehead, and my screams joined the echoing roars of the land into which I was damned. In such a condition, I was forced to yield to the oppressive malevolence and power that had a grasp around my fate, and relinquish any notion of control.

Then, with great discomfort, I felt my sight grow back. The return of my vision melted into my mind again, and I could gradually see the great horror enveloping me. A pitted ground of burnt rock stretched as far as I could see, which in this case was only about 50 feet every direction. The rest was shrouded in a heavy orange fog. The blinding light was gone, but the intense heat still remained, dehydrating my body like a weed in summer heat. In cases like this, you would think one would question the ability to grow a pair of functioning eyeballs back, or at least dwell on the thought for a brief second. Such rational cognitive function was a beyond me however, and animalistic panic was the only remaining system regulating my reactions. So I did what any panicked animal would do, given the circumstances. I ran.

A scalp

I lick the ketchup spoon.

I love posting lesser known edgy copypastas ITT because they always snare a few people. Recently I did Edward Norton's rant from 25th Hour and sometime before that Not Important 's speech from the Hatred game.

Fuuuark, I should probably start my assignment aye?
Due in like 6 hours

I had three revelations while on 1/4 of acid.

One
You can see all the colors inside fire, yet the ashes turn white and black. This is true about everything you want it to be true as well: choices you make (karma) is infinitely diverse, yet they build from the firewood you give it, which eventually turns black, then white and finally to invisible dust only to enter the never ending cycle again (samsara).

Two
I saw a malnourished stray dog on the mountains. It was a mother. Her -we use she/he for animals in my mother tongue, and I will use "her" for this dog because you need to understand it as a "her"- muzzle fixed to the ground, craving for any piece of nutrients she could get.
It was a vision of death, illness and old age (dukkha). It was completely devoid of attention to us, she was only interested in food.
I felt her presence. Black smoke it was.
My mind full of sorrow and compassion for her.

Three
My lids were closed. I can't sleep if I'm not on my bedroom with my own pillows.
I hear birds. It begins as an echo of my mind; I actually create the bird's sound. Only after the sound resonates through my mind the birds come to existence outside my body. Do I have the power to create reality? There is no "reality" neither a "non-reality". I understand emptiness better now.

A long road waits for me.

they love harry potter, they absolutely eat the shit up
in a Godless world fantasy is required to make meaning, and harry potter is one of the grandest escapist fantasies of all time, and perfectly reflects their outlook on life in a few ways:
1. Not only are you special, but you are destined for absolute greatness
2. Most people who don't agree with your world view are just ignorant (muggles)
3. There are a few people who are initiated and understand your worldview but do not agree with it. These are the "alt-righters", the "fascists", and they are evil schemers. In HP, it is voldemort and his suporters.
There's likely more of course, but I can't be bothered to mentally sift through it.

She looked exactly like this, her bones were a lot more visible and her mammary glands were the only hint she had something besides bones under her skin.

Life's going pretty good right now. Starting to think I may be a normie, not a future NEET.

Fucking christ why the fuck im so jealous

really interesting stuff man. I'm also currently using acid to explore my mind and the world. really helps for some accelerated thinking. I'm especially interested in point 3 as of late. I think to a degree, what we perceive is reality. Reality is such a varied construct between different people, it's different for everyone. It's kinda the basis for the "fake it till you make it" cliche. Where you act one way according to a version of reality you have in mind, and reality often shifts accordingly in response to the way that you interact with people or whatever. So if you belive that, for all intents and purposes, what you perceive can influence reality, it's just a question of how much. I believe LSD can be a powerful tool for shifting your perception to shift reality. I've had mild success so far in combining meditation with LSD to try and do it.

Reality always oscillates between existence and non-existence but never touches either of both extremes. This is why I refer to existence as empty (sunyata).
Onw, Two and Three are divided purely for anecdotal purposes. They are collectively one big concept. Reality in Three can be seen through One. Colors are the senses (mind is also a sense). I'm still not sure what firewood and ashes are supposed to be.

I still have to meditate but I'm so tired. I find it so hard to be on schedule without being nervous but being nervous never really helped me being on schedule either. At least reading some of Barthes' life showed me I'm not insane for taking a break every couple half hours and not working like a machine. I don't wanna do anything tomorrow. I don't wanna do anything any day. I've been slacking off so much this week... this month... this semester... all my life. I wish my parents had been stricter, payed attention to me, actually tought me things. Especially dad. I forgot to do that mental torture thing to him today. If things keep going like this he'll never get off his ass and their relationship will get even to the point of no return. Why am I the one that has to solve their relationship? Why can't my parents do the adult thing and solve their problems? I don't want mom to make me throw him out of the house. I'd feel used. I hate being economically dependent. At least I got to write some today. These I've been writing. It's trash but I've been writing. But can't do this and that at the same time. I have to study. I can't waste any more money. But there's only so many hours in a day. No, there's no hours. Damned society and its clocks.

>op pic related

White-glowing headlights dim against the snow,
fade--growing hot in my eyes as cold brushes my leg.
The frigid air slowly creeps up my spine,
sliding it's icy tendrils for the back of my mind.
Snow blankets furs long abandoned by birds;
snowbanks bury firm-planted trunks.

I am alone with death; his reign--all among us.

Sure see how far down you can go. You will lose your reputation but thats bullshit anyways. You'll lose opportunities but that's part of the sacrifice, maybe those opportunities lead towards vain paths. I mean, the whole point of this investigation is to lose everything to the point that what is important begins to shine brightly and enter into your field of awareness as an impenetrable truth, sort of like a dark aceticism, right? How interesting. That is, if there exists anything whose being is somehow graced with 'importance.' Maybe by feeling the weight of those chains and the taunting of the multitude of daemons you'll come to appreciate liberty and life, maybe.

Although friend, thinking about this ive realised there are a few things that you don't come back from. Stresses to your life which you can't undo. having unwanted children, and injuring your body. So don't fry that brain of yours. Have fun! Say hello to death for me if you see him! Bon voyage

every time I read you, quoted user, I feel we are the same
my head gets clouded with tiredness, restlessness
I can't hate anyone except my dad, but I doubt hate is what I feel
I get so frustrated, he always gets on my nerves so much it makes me want to cry
it's probably low self-steem, this sorrow I feel out of frustration
I just want to rest infinitely, give free rein to time
then I remember it doesn't make any difference; my misery is the same whether I dissociate or focus on reality
then I remember my misery is isn't isn't is; bliss, nirvana

I'll write it out here,because I did not last night. I was thinking that no matter what I do with my life still am a witness to the times. I was here in 2017. I guess I'm looking for a reason to keep on going. I keep falling back into my old ways, My Grandma told me that the fact that I never change is one of the reasons that I piss her off. I've thought about it and I feel like I'm afraid of change, I'm afraid of being judged, despite the fact that it happens all the time without me knowing.now I am thinking back to why I am afraid of being judged. I don't really know. A won't text me back. He says he is busy with midterms but sometimes I get paranoid that maybe he doesn't like me anymore. who would like someone who gets depressed over stupid shit, and may lash out, I wouldn't. It's probably a reason I hate myself.My life is this miserable cycle of being happy, fucking up something, being depressed,and getting over it just to start over again.Regin seems to understand that , but I fear I will push all the people close to me away .it is likely..Fear seems like the most dominate emotion in my had lately. fear of other, fear of myself, fear of failure.I started this hoping just to fill the box to a certain point, but I've surpassed that now. oh well here is a wall of text

Started the STEM meme and failed the first physics test. I just can't bring myself to study properly. Meanwhile I got 100% on a critical essay because it was actually enjoyable. What the fuck do I do. Everyone says English degrees are a waste of money, and I even I make fun of Humanities majors. Is there a job market for writing? The thought of me holding a professional engineering position sounds absurd and yet I've spent about a thousand dollars on the classes.

don't do STEM if you can't do the math, you will HATE your life and not even get a good job. STEM is still pretty fucking competitive man.

Wow, I'm literally you. Just got home from bombing a calc 3 test. Problem is, humanities students are too terrible to justify a major. I feel like running away or jumping off a bridge

Smoke coloured sky
Hazel nuts falling
With rising mists, hope dies

It's strange isn't it? How you meet that one person over and over again here. That person that is really you. It's a weird thing.

(But, I've always loved this heaviness. It's not like I disliked the lighter stuff. I just didn't react to it. See see, that's the thing -- over here Shariputra, there's no thing that isn't energy. That which we scoff as nothing is really, what is opposed to us. Repulsion. I've loved the repulsive. The muddied, the dirtied, the deformed, the decayed, the sickly. Just by that I was against society. And I deleted that manifesto detailing this. It was too French. Too happy to be in pain. "The cannibalisation of man by man", that's what I say -- hey, but don't I hate Hobbes!)

Metaxu: But Weil is wrong. As is Anno. Wall builders -- one day they'll meet the wall breakers. Us wall climbers, we only place faith in that one day it'll end. Evola was also misshooting. It's not about getting up there in the mountain and looking down. Because when you look at this perspective from above it's a straight line. So maybe we put walls on walls to forget we're going up, to forget the gravity and say, "life would be bliss without this!"

And Nietzsche too is wrong. You have attained my skin, my flesh, my bones, and then when Huike said nothing it was his marrow. It wasn't that the marrow could exist without the rest. That is silly. He precisely got under the last hardness. Out of this great silence everything grows. It grows because it is allowed to grow. Not out of an absence of God, like Weil says; not because I'm turning away from the tragic reality of the misunderstood, as Nietzsche says. It's okay that things can coexist. They couldn't not coexist. The couldn't honestly be in conflict. There's no need to justify it. And how could you. Are you going to go to the suffering and say it's for their good? What is wrong with you. Go away with your perfect God. Simone, if you had wanted to experience the suffering of war, you would have stuck a knife in your hand. Don't say it wouldn't be the same. You're not above it. Don't go pretend you're an exploited worker -- oh don't! Do not. You're playing the victim. If they were like you, and could just decide to understand others, they wouldn't be where they are; so don't pretend you understand when you have all this authority and security. There's no excuse to it. No embrace of Jesus could suffice. And he would not justify it. Him being there is enough. "It is easy to love the beautiful, the difficult is to love the ugly." A LARPer getting hurt in his stupidity knows more about war than any reading of the Iliad could give you. Oh, but it is the Large Book, the Big Book! You charitable ones, you only know to talk about the big book. You could not peek unto the tiring universes that are in one hair of a Buddha then say "well, it really isn't unlike that cockroach there".

>tfw you will never punch john green in his stupid smug face

It's all absurd. Every note of each moment, the tip of every minute; all falling, spiraling absurdity. I used to write for you, to you, in the hope of you: now I write out of rote habit. I can't even pick a voice. I knew who I was, in the losing of you. It was more defintion than I had before. Now what? I'm going to graduate college this semester, useless degrees, no friends, no connections. I've been uplifted so I can manage a Wendy's. I can't suffer it: I won't. All I want is to write, but I have no voice, and I don't have you. God; what to do?

So, I reject all magic. Anything that tries to turn the near and the far into one is perverted. That's what I have understood.

Y'know I'm almost done with my book. In my head, that is. Now comes the fun part of writing. But I have her and him perfectly delined. I could describe even their elbows. Whole dissertations on the aesthetics of it, gone. I could write a whole book on how much this thing has changed. The scary part is that I remember it all. But no one will ever know this. This must be what Cormac McCarthy feels like.

The itching grows worse. For many years the walls itched, only the walls. As time went by and I neglected the itch, it only grew deeper. Now I push and pull and scratch and tear at the walls but the itch expands and intensifies and digs and digs and digs. I must go deeper, into the black depths of the anus, from where the itch taunts me and drains me of my will to continue.

dreamed men who dream men

en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Circular_Ruins
Julio Cortázar - Axolotl

Yes, it was a good idea to make her dark skinned. Her and her too.

Good old Justice League.

My friend from uni made me buy Cortázar's Bestiario. Hopefully I'll like it better than I liked Rayuela.

Well, I'm turning off the PC and go relax and make coffee. I'll prolly fall asleep mid session or get frustrated but hey -- now or never.

See you around friend. And thanks.

Before I have dreamt I'm fist-fighting one of the few people I truly hate in real life. I am not a violent person but in this moment I want to just fucking kill them where they stand. But when I punch their face, the blows don't land. It's as if my fist is going in slow motion and not properly connecting. I can't do anything to hurt them; I'm basically just watching my fists tap their face. Dreams are the royal road to the unconscious, Freud? Cool bro. Then I guess I'm a gigantic pussy (it's not a guess. I mean, I can't even do what I want in my own dreams).

I'm becoming convinced a certain pressure has been building up inside of me for years now. A yoctogram a day (or whatever small order of magnitude I just Googled). I do believe seeing a therapist would help me in some small way, any small way, but I will never go. That isn't a deliberate refusal like when an alcoholic says "I can stop drinking whenever I want" - it's something inside of me. I just know for a fact I will never step into a stranger's office and tell them about my dread, my lack of discipline, the brain aneurism that killed my best friend, which was years ago but something that I think of daily, my ex which, again, was (two) years ago and something I also think of daily (hourly). How we were just lying in bed and I did the bravest thing of my life by saying "I love you" and all I got back was a rushed kiss and the response "Wow that's a lot to say."

Like I said, I'm a gigantic pussy. Thanks for reading my shitty blog.

Why not? Don't be afraid to follow your dreams, user.

He's probably talking about the big five trait.

Beholden to;
How uncordial is that tether
That suspends this form
Over Lowest Cocytus

why not create world peace, solve world hunger, improve world happiness?

I dunno man, but don't be ashamed of being happy.

iktf

you don't know how much you're worth, user

Little did you know it's traditional for the protagonist to reject the call to adventure the first few times.

>There is no "reality" neither a "non-reality".
Now user, you know that just ain't so.

those concepts are present in every hero's journey, you arrogant NIIIIIIG!

Goodluck, user.

what do you have against Jesus that you act like this?

don't talk about things you know nothing about, you sound like a fucking anime character

your suffering is real, your hatred is real, you're just out of touch with your emotions. stop being such a chinky faggot and do something about it. fucking ACT. read hamlet a few times if you need this message delivered in a more compelling way

shut up

slow motion in dreams represents unconscious resistance... what the fuck dude that second paragraph just suddenly pulled me in. well done man. And I'm sorry. And I'm sorry for putting aesthetic concerns before ethical ones. Everything will be all right in the end.

can relate

The thing is, you guys think that apathy, that inertia, is somehow new and different, a postmodern twist on a naive ancient story. But it's always been that way. The hero never listens the first time, he's always stuck, dull, indolent, stupid (for that's all there is, that's the only reason he would refuse to listen)--all that that means is that the story has higher stakes, that its author is more audacious, that you're going to see higher flights of fancy than you've ever seen before.

The spirit, the original author, is juking you man. You have the psychic equivalent of broken ankles right now. Your time with the ball's gonna come. Just don't waste any time or effort either worrying about an inevitable process or locking in your depression with dumb rationalizations that prevent you from taking action.

>why not create world peace, solve world hunger, improve world happiness?
Because "magick" is the ultimate worship of the self.

Hot damn, so many magicians in this thread. Or, should I say magickians? *tips key*

Why do I work tirelessly to prevent the inevitable? It is much like Sysuphus, in a way—although the rock symbolizes a more complex aspect of my struggle.
Should I have let my father die that night, when he made peace with God and accepted his life's end? For what purpose did I recall him to life, my father, who has fallen from the man whom he will never know again? If he is never to redeem himself, have I, acting in supposed benevolence, prolonged his suffering? I see a gaoler in the mirror, my love a key that confined him in his cell.

you don't make much sense but it's poetic, user
don't lose your self in lsd tho

I'm a hypocrite. My sex drive is so low that I don't even think that Emma Stone is pretty. Now I don't want anyone to comment saying that she's never pretty. Why she's just as cute as a button and she would, in other ages, awaken the animal in me as rapidly as if someone had dragged a metal cup clanklingly against the bars of his cage. But now, goddam it, he's out. Not even a trace in the straw on the floor that he ever existed, sniff it as much as you will.

Yessir, I'm all outta sex drive. I walk around and look at women, all sorts of women, and I don't feel the slightest thing. For months I was praying for this freedom without ever really considering what it'd be like if it ever came to me. Be careful what you wish for! I scroll through reddit and when I see a porn thread the most I can muster is some kind of disinterested aesthetic appreciation. I find myself answering their rhetorical sex questions, commenting on their indelicacy and un-lady-like behavior. I feel I'm so, so cut off from the opposite sex. But beyond isolation, I just don't feel a damn thing. I feel like the whole circuit is shut off.

I wouldn't be surprised if the US government was fucking with me. They've done as much before. Not to me, but to other US citizens. Why stop now? Maybe libido is at the heart of a bouquet of social ills.

Now I can go most days and even some weeks without worrying, but this lack of sex drive thing is starting to bother me the more I talk to myself about it. Was it because I took too much adderall a few months ago? Did it really permanently fuck up my system in the way I've heard SSRIs can? Honestly, this is not even to myself, to anyone reading this, if you're about to start on an SSRI, fucking don't! There're countless sites online full of people complaining about a sex drive that vanished and never recovered as soon as they took their first pill. Fucked up, man. I don't know why a stimulant, or even a cocktail of stimulants that raised my heart rate to a creepy, yellow-zone level for a few minutes should've burned out my endocrine system. Am I a man, or what? Maybe this is just that thing that happens to me when I'm in school, when my libido goes way down for a while so I can study.

I guess this must strike everybody as so morbid, so overly self-interested and disgusting. Well you ain't heard nothin yet. I went through the whole discord and I was so pleased with myself that not a single story was lacking some big grammar or spelling errors in the first paragraph, at least (many were the first sentence). I felt such a satanic sense of pride in myself. Then I read my own stories and felt oh so superior. Oh diary, pity me, won't you? Every time I try to get back with my muse I end up getting distracted and think what a clever man I must have been to lock down such a lady like her (which is a totally unprofessional thing to think, and moreover, insofar as we even are together, it's because she was assigned to me and not the other way around, it's

learn a trade, faggots

so stupid and arrogant to think otherwise!)

And the worst is that thinking that always leads to the end of it. It's like humility, feeling proud that you're so humble is the ultimate sin, the final obstacle to scrambled over and the most paradoxical and mind-bending. All I know is what I've told myself a hundred times or more.

Goddamn it now these posts are gonna be lopsided, anyone who reads on is just gonna feel disappointed like in MGSV when chapter 2 was way shorter than the first one.

To say sorry for my evil acts and thoughts and words, I'd like to say sorry. I'm sorry. I apologize.

Holy mackerel, it's 3 AM! I really gotta go to bed. Goodnight everyone.

...

thank you for reminding me it's time for a drink

>firewood and ashes
They're supposed to represent your colorful psyche fading into drug-induced insanity which you perceive as enlightenment.

this desu
write about it

I was too stressed to get an erection so I took half a cialis and it just made me sleep for 11 hours

I'm with a stressfull fatigue. I'm going to watch Mother or Blade Runner tomorrow, dunno.

It's hard to admit that I can't control my drinking, that having a sniff of the stuff would just make me crave more and more, when society expects I should be able to enjoy one or two. Simple induction really: I have more than enough examples throughout the years. Can't remember the last time I drank with positive (or neutral) consequences. I blame myself for poor discipline when I could just admit (or fool myself to believe) that it's a chemical reaction bound to happen - not my fault as such - the only fault would be having the first drink, as being of sound mind, I can predict that the results would be dreadful. I avoid the discussion whether it's a disease or not altogether. I don't bloody know. Like I don't know what the nature of transsexuality is. It probably matters but I'm oblivious and can't regard others as much wiser. For some it's the cause, for others the symptom. As with my mental issues and the drink - which came first? But what is dipsomanic addiction? I can manage months sober and physical withdrawal is a matter of days, weeks, top. I've overcome benzo withdrawal and known enough opiate addicts so I see a difference. If I couldn't stop daily drinking, I'd check into rehab, but like I said there's no withdrawal so what can I be rehabitated from - repeated self-destructive behavioral patterns? Sounds like loads and loads of fun.

> why not create world peace, solve world hunger, improve world happiness?

I'm trying desu. I don't appear to have sufficient will for it.

I had this dream that Arnold Schwarzenegger was banging his maid in my grandma's bed. He kept repeating bits of his explanation of "the pump", where he said it feels like coming. He got exponentially more incoherent as he approached orgasm and began sounding like a broken record, he kept repeating "coming" and "i'm coming day and night" and at one point it started to sound contrapuntal. When he came his face got red and his eyes started bulging out of his head like in Total Recall and his semen burst out the maid's mouth and eyes as he kept grunting "COMING" over and over in the stereotypical AHNULD voice.

you seem like a real nice type of guy

The concepts I talk about are heavily influenced by buddhist thought, so it won't make much sense if you are not familiar with it. I put in parenthesis the Buddhist terms for the things I said.
I'd rather think they represent the constant duality of [any thesis with its antithesis] and the inevitability of the passing away of stress (dukkha) that builds up on empty reality (dhammas, sunyata)

I feel I need to make clear that this was not an hallucination. I was actually in a house at the mountains with a group of friends, and we really made a fireplace; then there appeared a stray dog and we went to sleep in an overcrowded room. Only my mind reflected on these three situations that happened with the thoughts I shared with you.
I wouldn't call it insanity.

Do an English/Economics double major. English for your enjoyment and Economics to get a job. It's not a terribly hard major, but still has a healthy dosage of math and is somewhat interesting. Then when you have a real job focus on writing on the side and pursue that career a few years down the road when you have actual money and have written an adequate amount.

This comes from an Economics/Math major whose GPA was crushed by my math classes. I lament not pursuing English.

That’s not magic, man, that’s narcissism

I love being a girl

got called a leech by a mod on a writing critique thread after I put in solid effort on a critique.

Replied with:
Listen buddy don't call me a motherfucking Leach write my first attempt at critiquing was the one with your fellow might respond to me to okay no effort by your standards that's fine alright I am I actually did try but I was comparing my attempt with the other I am politics on that page and so that is maybe also why it was a bit in adequate however however the second post which is perfectly fine alright I put effort into that more than a fucking our mate morning a fucking our right I'm to Donna to my studies to write it right second time round I would like some fucking comment on my shit alright just because I like the fucking night I lock the shutter lock the shed am and you're only give a fuck mate I'm posting this and it's fucking speech to text mate don't call me a leach.


Looking for some validation. He was snarky guys, real snarky.

To be is to exist

Therefore that which exists exists.

Then God existed and was inside Himself.

Slutmounds Sloppycakes Slotminds The Blitz

Anime will never be real.
On a more serious note, I contemplating about how to go about writing a character I created with 1d4chan's creation tables.

I'm gonna kill it
Gonna break it's face
Gonna chop his head off
Gonna shit down his neck
I'm gonna laugh like a motherfucker
Gonna laugh like a mother fucker

the future can't be what's in the future

[heavily exaggerated italian accent] AN EVENING-A IN DE AMERICAS!

youtube.com/watch?v=v5VXqHARqFA

>that second paragraph just suddenly pulled me in
Thanks user. And yeah, I think I'll be fine. How you doing?

sorry user :(