i could say alot of things here, and you still won't know who i am.
who could i be? some static self-image scraped together to surround
a frail psyche? what horrors must we house within ourselves to
require such viciously tentative illusions? it seems such shades
are more a service to ourselves than to others. insubstantial
edifices secluding the statements: i am poor, i'm lost, i'm scared,
i'm insignificant, i'm tired, i'm lonely, i'm human.<br />
perpetual reflections reexaminations of this thing called life have
left me thoroughly disenchanted with myself, and, just to give you
a heads up: you. do you think you're special, that you're going to
make the world dance to your offbeat...whatever? errrtt! guess
again, snowflake! sure, i get it, everyone wants to be made to feel
special, and that's what we're all here for, right? and yeah, i got
my own things going on that make me get up in the morning, but i
work equally hard to keep my delusions in scope as in focus.<br />
<br />
whatever you care about, or think you care about, doesn't really
matter. whatever i care about, doesn't really matter. sorry. i know
you don't care about half of that shit i do, and shouldn't, unless
you already do. i won't like something just because you do, but
that doesn't mean i am so committed to a concept i can't change my
mind. i can be quite polite, but begrudgingly suffer through the
majority of humanity. i would say that 99% of the population are
caught up in the more trivial aspects of existence (when is
____coming out?, what does____think/say?, want to get _____?). 1%
are significantly less so, and as such, have the privilege of at
least being my friend. the remaining negligible infinitesimal of a
percent is purely theoretical, as i have yet to find even one
person who is really on my level. believe me, i've really tried
over the years, and it's pretty much been trying to fit a square
peg into a 5 dimensional polytope. not that i'm all that or
anything, but i'm not out to waste my time, or yours.