Percepitation and Malinformagnanimity

I have no more hopes for when I die. What I mean to say is that I have no aspirations to leave a legacy or a memory. I have existed in my present state for so long, I can't remember where childhood idealism ended and the "adult" perception of reality began. I suppose the ever coveted independence which came with the dire price of responisibility had a profound effect on the way I act, think and live. I know so little about the outside world. I am aware of cultures and lifestyles, but I have no experience or true knowledge of them. When I really stop to think, I feel so ignorant. At the same time, I am somewhat apathetic; but as much as I try, I will never be truly apathetic. I think that would bring with it a state of numb bliss that I can only hope for. My own personal nirvana.

Animals vs. People (or, how I learned to become bitter and jaded before I turned 30)

I either don't or won't understand... I think I've gotten past the can't stage. In my haste, I will, for the most part, ignore all proper punctuation and spelling unless it just falls out of my head that way. Editing sucks. While it serves the purpose of making things readable and maintaining the flow of the written word, it's a pain in the ass and makes one think too much. Thankfully I have a built in editor who works constantly which is probably why I take forever to write anything and almost never finish or publish my work in any medium.

But here's the thing: I WANT you to read it. All of it. Every nasty detail, every pathetic rant, every embarrassing anecdote, every goddamned thing that comes out of my fucked up brain. Whether it makes sense or not. I want you to read the stuff that will make you think I hate everything. I want you to read all the confusion and negativity that clogs my knotted mind to the point where I can't think. I want to rip open my consciousness and spread its contents like an airborne plague. I want you to judge me and love me. Love my bitterness, my weaknesses, my jaded observations, my pointless ramblings, my vulnerability that I try so fucking hard to hide. I want you to think you know me better than I know myself. Get inside my head and make yourself at home. Leave dirty dishes on the coffee table, drink the rest of the milk straight from the carton and leave it in the fridge after it's empty. Have sex in my bed and don't wash the sheets, pee in my shower, break a window or two.

And when you're finished, do me a favor and burn the place to the ground.