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I'm in one of my moods again. the one where i'm a lethargic blob. I feel like working on a website, but I don't have the potential to make a layout for it. And even if I did make a layout, I wouldn't have the html skills to smash it all together. I want to write a long, 1000 page novel. But I haven't the slightest idea where to start. But I'm glad I have this journal. It's odd.........O.o;
I'm tired too. But I'm happy on this computer. It makes me feel like I'm at home. And that I'm peaceful. I feel.........I don't know. My fingers hurt. From.....typing...or writing. Or anything.
......everyone should just go to hell.
nevermind. no you guys shouldn't. i'm just being a gay faggot. don't..listen to me. if you know what's good for you. why do i have to think and analyze so much? =/ It bothers me. I'm always thinking. my brain never goes on auto-pilot. And if ever did drugs or anything, i don't think i'd like it. because i'd be somewhere else, and not in my brain. and it would freak me out. i like being conscience. i like to think until 3 in the morning. I like not sleeping, I guess. I don't know. I don't know anything. I'm stupid. I really am. And I'm serious. Don't say I'm not stupid, because that's not true, because it would be lying to me, and to yourself. And it's rude to lie. So don't. But I could be lying right now. Maybe I am. I don't know. That's exactly why I'm stupid. I was born stupid. brain damage or something.
I wish I was unconscience. It would be fun. Wouldn't it? Falling on a cloud, sleeping in a cloud, wrapping a cloud blanket around you while the moon is your night light. What peace. What......joy.
I sound so cliche. And yet I don't. And yet I do so much all the time. the time is 9:10. And yet....who needs time? it's only numbers that are telling you that you are dying every second. and who wants to know that they're dying all the time? not me.
yeah i do. i like seeing those 3-D red digital numbers on my alarm clock stare out at me in the night. they shine so perfectly that even i could not wake their deep slumber. clock-watching is my favorite hobby at night. my eyes become mesmorized by the red-ness of the numbers. i notice there are invisible lines between them. So they look all lineish. -------- like that. It's interesting.
there are shadows at night. they are dancing as i look out the window. i see them every night. I hear weird noises. i claim i'm skitzophrenic. but nobody believes me. they all think i'm sane
i'm not sane. i know i'm not. so, does that make me sane? is anyone sane beside bin laden?
no. bin laden is not sane. he's insane. maybe i'm insane. maybe the whole world's insane. my fingers hurt. there's pain rushing up my fingers, and going into my arm. it's straining. and tiring. this music is getting so annoying. i have to turn it off. but my arms can't reach. so i have to live with it. it sucks being crippled.
I'm a liar. the biggest liar you ever saw. if you think you know anyone who's a bigger liar than me, then.....you don't know much, do you? i lie so much that my lies turn to reality. Somehow, they do. Don't ask me how. For I don't know. And even if I did, would I tell you?
Course not. Cuz I'm a liar. And that's what liars do.
playing golf is fun...............................;lajfssd;asdfljrandom pounding on the keyboard....typos. are the greatest pets. let's all own a typo. i own a typo...he looks like this
FEaar....his name is.....lala...like that one kid's grandma that smelled like ramen noodles. typos will take over the world and make them sane. hooray for the typos.
I'm tired too. But I'm happy on this computer. It makes me feel like I'm at home. And that I'm peaceful. I feel.........I don't know. My fingers hurt. From.....typing...or writing. Or anything.
......everyone should just go to hell.
nevermind. no you guys shouldn't. i'm just being a gay faggot. don't..listen to me. if you know what's good for you. why do i have to think and analyze so much? =/ It bothers me. I'm always thinking. my brain never goes on auto-pilot. And if ever did drugs or anything, i don't think i'd like it. because i'd be somewhere else, and not in my brain. and it would freak me out. i like being conscience. i like to think until 3 in the morning. I like not sleeping, I guess. I don't know. I don't know anything. I'm stupid. I really am. And I'm serious. Don't say I'm not stupid, because that's not true, because it would be lying to me, and to yourself. And it's rude to lie. So don't. But I could be lying right now. Maybe I am. I don't know. That's exactly why I'm stupid. I was born stupid. brain damage or something.
I wish I was unconscience. It would be fun. Wouldn't it? Falling on a cloud, sleeping in a cloud, wrapping a cloud blanket around you while the moon is your night light. What peace. What......joy.
I sound so cliche. And yet I don't. And yet I do so much all the time. the time is 9:10. And yet....who needs time? it's only numbers that are telling you that you are dying every second. and who wants to know that they're dying all the time? not me.
yeah i do. i like seeing those 3-D red digital numbers on my alarm clock stare out at me in the night. they shine so perfectly that even i could not wake their deep slumber. clock-watching is my favorite hobby at night. my eyes become mesmorized by the red-ness of the numbers. i notice there are invisible lines between them. So they look all lineish. -------- like that. It's interesting.
there are shadows at night. they are dancing as i look out the window. i see them every night. I hear weird noises. i claim i'm skitzophrenic. but nobody believes me. they all think i'm sane
i'm not sane. i know i'm not. so, does that make me sane? is anyone sane beside bin laden?
no. bin laden is not sane. he's insane. maybe i'm insane. maybe the whole world's insane. my fingers hurt. there's pain rushing up my fingers, and going into my arm. it's straining. and tiring. this music is getting so annoying. i have to turn it off. but my arms can't reach. so i have to live with it. it sucks being crippled.
I'm a liar. the biggest liar you ever saw. if you think you know anyone who's a bigger liar than me, then.....you don't know much, do you? i lie so much that my lies turn to reality. Somehow, they do. Don't ask me how. For I don't know. And even if I did, would I tell you?
Course not. Cuz I'm a liar. And that's what liars do.
playing golf is fun...............................;lajfssd;asdfljrandom pounding on the keyboard....typos. are the greatest pets. let's all own a typo. i own a typo...he looks like this
FEaar....his name is.....lala...like that one kid's grandma that smelled like ramen noodles. typos will take over the world and make them sane. hooray for the typos.
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