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SubscriptionsSites I Read
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| It's the ability to write something that no one is looking at that gets millions of people off. Think about it. Journals at bookstores, journals on the internet. So desperate to write something in a book that no one will see that we pay $20 for it. $30 if it's classy looking. $70 leatherbound. This I do not understand. There are free journals everywhere else-on napkins and notecards and right in somebody's eyes if you stare long enough. This way, we pay nothing for something. This is, after all, the way things should be.
I've been contemplating whether windshield wipers in the United Kingdom are in better physical condition than those of the United States. Or on a smaller scale, the wipers in Seattle vs. those in the Lehigh Valley. Would more rain increase their physical fitness, or break them down and reduce them to bedridden masses of synthetic crap? The world would be very interesting if inanimate objects aged similarly to humans-performance at a low, middle, peak, and slow fall into decay. It would be interesting to see how well your windsheild wipers would work on various occasions. I'd start smiling at the mention of a light drizzle. | | |
| Right now I'm so entirely frusterated with life in general that words can not even come close to describing. The main problem is (as I'm sure you have already concluded at some point) that PEOPLE SUCK.
Friends (at least some of mine) suck because they are two-faced, unreliable, and overall make me want to pull my already chemically-abused hair out of my goddamn scalp. No matter what I do, I am constantly accused, ignored, et cetera, And I would like to take this opportunity to say that even I don't suck that badly. Fuck off.
Some people I don't know suck because they automatically assume I'm an evil bitch. Supposedly I'm intimidating, or something. Whatever.
Customers at the grocery store suck because they automatically assume I can make the desired fruit and/or vegetable magically appear when I do a special produce dance.
With every passing day, opportunity to leave this small town of Whitehall comes closer. I fall asleep at night dreaming regretfully of being at college and far away from everyone, and everything, that I hate around here. Sure, running away isn't the answer...but why shouldn't it be? | | |
| Nothing is more painful than vehemently believing that the entire world is a lie. | | |
| The best of the Profound is absoultely Random.
7:44 PM and it's amazing how quickly time passes when you're not waiting for anything.
7:45 PM and there are definately 12 gague curved barbells through my nipples.
7:46 PM and I just finished the Lord of the Flies for the second time. Something tells me that savagery will soon overtake our society, in which case I am prepared to paint my face and run naked through the desolate streets of Whitehall, spear in hand.
7:47 PM, and I'm 10 minutes late on quoting the sensational (contrary to popular belief) Dicky Barret singing "737 almost every day" in his scratchy yet enjoyable voice...
7:48 PM and I'm reassuring myself for the millionth time that popular belief is the devil in a three piece suit.
7:49 PM and I'm listening to the Dillinger Escape Plan's lovely instrumental "Calculate Infinity".
7:50 PM and I just wasted 6 more minutes of my life on Xanga.
signed: ."you're.only.beautiful.when.you're.dead.".and.don't.i.wish.i.could.meet.Cedric. | | |
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