I know I’m weak.

I’m fully aware of it. And I know I made that mistake with you. And we both paid dearly and suffered for it. You more than I did.



I’m not making that mistake a second time. Not again. Not this time.

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I wish I was fucking heartless.

That way I could treat people like shit the way I’ve been treated myself and wouldn’t feel guilty about it.

Or I could stop caring so fucking much about shit that doesn’t concern me just to try and help, which would probably stop me getting into so much fucking trouble.

Fuck this shit, I need to get this high out of my system.

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…And apparently I never do learn.

I need to leave the fucking wall-punching antics out of my office. I got a scolding from my immediate superior, HR and the CEO, because I left one of the walls in the parking lot all bloody and had to have my hands and knuckles bandaged.


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I am a gigantic masochist.


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I have a feeling that you don’t have the words.

I found one for you: kissed your cheek, said bye and walked away… Don’t look back, ’cause I am crying.



I hope your dream came true… mine betrayed me.

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For great justice!


Flame Haze Shana, Buddy Jesus and my small task force of GUNDAM Mobile Suits will protect my work computer from any intruders.

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Stream of consciousness.

It is hard to take back the reins of your conscience when the road it’s taking isn’t even similar in the slightest to the one you had planned. The words come out on their own, flowing from mind and fingers, and plastered on something as real as it is unreal, as solid as it is nonexistent, indelible and undying. However, much worse is the sensation that remains when the storm of feelings and confessions eases off, and the dust settles after the fact, when you realize that the nakedness of the soul is much more shaming and humilliating than any lack of physical clothes.

There’s a million things I want to do right at this moment, and the tears fight amongst themselves trying to reach beyond the borders of my eyelids, but I’m not letting them — I’m in the middle of my goddamn office, supposed to be working. Nevertheless, sheer sadness and the feeling of despair for no apparent reason or motive becomes almost too tough to restrain. As much as it’s been hours of attempting to prevent this, I can feel them, one after the other, the droplets of rage against myself streaming barely down to my nose, as I’m not intending to give them the chance to reach any further, for it puts me at risk of someone in my cubicle noticing that I’m not entirely in control of myself today.

Venting and relieving the weight of accumulated feelings in a heart chock full of inferiority complexes, powerlessness against my own incompetence and pain and rage towards myself is an experience that idealists would probably call liberating, but for me it’s nothing but devastating and depressing. Maybe it’s a necessary evil, maybe it’s not. I don’t regret doing it, however. But the sheer internal destruction this entails is a deep and very painful wound, one that will not scar easily, and that when it does scar, it is one more mark, permanent, eternal, in an already heavily pockmarked surface barely capable of holding one more.

Damn loneliness. Damn destroyed heart. But most of all, damn myself and my own damn weakness.

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That horrible, disgusting, sinking feeling…

…when you get a fucking accolade at work and everybody’s looking at you, and all you want is for the earth to split open and swallow you because you can’t stand the attention and you feel ashamed, embarrassed and disgusted at yourself instead of cheered up.

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As far as the man can run from us we’re following the trail of blood…

…So hunt, my young ones — the pack they have always feared is back!

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I do NOT answer to YOU of all people.

I have a life. I have duties, rights and obligations. That much is clear to everyone.

I have a professional life. I have a career and a degree, I have a job, I have someone to report to, I have things to do required by the aforementioned job.

I have a social life! I have friends (not many, but I do), I have workmates, and I have a whole host of acquaintances with whom I can create social connections of people contemporary to me.

I also happen to have an internet life. One in which I also have acquaintances and friends (some of whom I’d actually LOVE to meet in person, just so I could give them, or let them give me, a much needed hug). I have communities I’m part of, groups of “anonymous” people who have fun with each other by sharing our interests and tastes.

In short, I have everything you yourself had when you were young, in an evolved level.

So why in the motherfucking ninth circle of fucking HELL do YOU give a flying fuck if I like to do or watch stuff your shitty, hypocritical, self-entitled asshole attitude has deemed “childish” or “immature”? Do I fucking look like a fucking kid to you? Do I fucking look like I’m fucking five? Do you see me not taking care of my obligations and responsibilities (and even some that AREN’T FUCKING MINE, by the way) because of my hobbies?

Furthermore, do you REALLY think I’m gonna buy your bullshit that you, in your time, didn’t like so-called “kid’s stuff” despite your age? You’re SERIOUSLY gonna try to make me swallow the supposed “fact” that you were never ostracized because of what you liked?

If my games, my hobbies and my preferences aren’t to your tastes, guess who’s fucking problem that is.

No clue?

Okay, here’s a hint: it starts with Y, ends with U, and has an O in the middle.

That’s right. It is nobody but YOUR fucking problem. Why? Mainly because I don’t fucking see ANYONE FROM MY GODDAMN GENERATION FUCKING AGREEING WITH YOUR PIECE OF SHIT OPINIONS. Do you wanna know why that is? Why, that’s a very easy to answer question: Because they’re too fucking busy not giving a fuck about what I do and like, and instead EMBRACE AND ENJOY IT.

Bottom line: You are out of fucking touch with fucking REALITY, despite your constant claims to the contrary. So how about you, for once in your miserable, shitty life, stay the fuck out of mine and let me live it the way I want?

As hard as you might find to believe this, I actually do appreciate the education and opportunities you gave me through all my life. I actually really do. But now that I’m pretty much on a path completely different to yours, what in the fuck makes you think I give a flying shit about what you consider “appropriate” or not for “someone my age”?

Please do us all a favor, and SHUT THE BLOODY MOTHERFUCKING FUCK UP.


A smothered young adult.

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At the end of tomorrow

And sometimes my heart I wish was of stone black,
of rock dead and cold and that feelings it lacked,
and then I can’t help but sense its strings tug
and the tears as they roll down my pathetic mug,
and I can’t help but wonder what’s the point of my life
being surrounded by shadows and engulfed in strife…

And I ask myself, “what have you done that is worth?”
There’s no answer in sight,
And in pain and in blight,
Without something worth saving
Or an end to this destructive road I am paving,
I just keep walking forth — no direction, no north,
dragging behind me my sins and my sorrow,
in the hopes that one day
a kind soul will just say
“look at me, take my hand, stand up, hold your way,
for a smile waits for you at the end of tomorrow”.

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She is all I ever dreamed…

…but now my skies are turning gray.

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Back to job hunting. Got fired today.

Not telling specifics. Suffice it to say that it was due to a paranoia-induced, completely unnecessary “scandal” involving a massive fatass SOB with a personal vendetta and an overly inflated ego, an entirely harmless Harlem Shake video, and an astounding number of assholes with delusions of grandeur.


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For those who care: No, I’m not dead yet. Even if I almost did die a few days ago.

Plowing through an asthma crisis for the past two weeks. Five days ago almost asphyxiated myself. (Dumb luck I didn’t.) Been getting plugged to oxygen all night every night ever since then.

This is also the second time in three months I get mugged and lose my salary of two weeks. It’s… annoying, to say the least.

Whoever wants to get in touch, drop me an email. I still don’t have full internet at the office, but I do get limited access to Gmail for work purposes. I’ll try to get in touch ASAP.

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How the fuck do you explain to yourself that you can’t go on anymore, not because you don’t want to, but because you’re FORCED not to?


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Fuck you, life.

New job stress, family stress, health stress, relationship breakup stress, lack of sleep stress, deadlines stress…
Just fucking kill me already and we’ll call it a day.

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I’m an imbecile.

That’s pretty much it. I destroyed a friendship over a misunderstanding when I should’ve known better. This is why I can’t never have good things.


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In Flemington, NJ now for a few days…

Trying to decide how best to put some level of meaning, order and sense to my piece of shit life…

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Please, please, please, PLEASE, help me fucking ESCAPE.

I swear, with each fucking day that goes by, my blithering imbecile folks are getting more and more idiotic and more and more infantile and more and more impressionable.

[Read More…]

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Sigh. Fucking great. Right when I thought my life could be getting a little better, my fucking glasses break. And I’m BROKE to get new ones made.

Well shit.
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