Quit projecting how you feel into my words. Fuck you.

My parents were superstitious potheads and burned their own supernatural stories into my head. I've always felt like a spirit was keeping me from reality; as protection of sort. Sometimes I feel guided by this, others I feel abandoned. Or rather, left to my own devices.

I was obsessed with horror movies and videogames as a child. Nightmare fuel and rollercoasters were my jones.

Now I quietly wait for nothing to happen, wondering what it is my feelings were meant for.



Some people of mine seem frustrated in my lack of motivation. Oh you're so smart! But why aren't you going to college and accumulating debt so you can get a house and accumulate debt? You can worry about your hobbies and your passions later in life, when you're in debt and taking care of little debt monsters. You must be lazy, they say.

No. I'm just afraid of living a life in the dark. You have such a frightened look on your face when you talk about money; how much you wish you had, how much you spent, how long it took to save x amount, how much more other people have for doing y.

When I think about all of the titles and degrees I could pursue, nothing really speaks out as meaningful. Title alone guarantees jack shit. And passing four to eight years of tests ensures a semantic understanding; not a spacial, visual, theoretical one.

My idols had to jump through hoops to wear little lab coats that let them develop byproducts of military research. There's no money in saving people. They want their dicks in our pockets until the day we die, and will loot our burning corpses when we say "no."

Turn on a television and laugh with those pearly white monkey teeth. Let dramatic music and rhetoric sway your senses and logic. Change your life because your parents cried over the fucking BOGEYMAN.


I'm not saying action is meaningless, or that there is nothing to stand for. I'm calling you all infighting twats. Gullible pigsheeps. Speak in tongues and spew chunks of dogma. Quit sucking charismatic cock. Slurp slurp slurp. There, do you feel worthwhile now?



I'm ranting like an idiot now. It doesn't matter.

Master every skill. Focus on survival. Learn to question everything. Educate yourself, and don't feel content with your understanding because some beard with glasses marked an "A" on a multiple choice test of yours.

I'll never get a chance to tell anyone anything meaningful. I'm interrupted even now. When my anxiety and frustration call for complete attention to what I'm expressing, it simply isn't allowed.

I'm not going to hold onto hot coals. There will never be a chance for me to calmly "write things out," because those feelings will not be there in their purity. My breathing is stifled. I'm sorry if I become a crockpot someday. It hurts my feelings when something that feels so true is overlooked for traditional ignorance and reassurance.

I'm running out of sand.