keskiviikko 15. tammikuuta 2014

Random sheet.

Everybody is always doing that. Thinking: Oh my god that guy in a wheel chair is living a fulfilling life, though he`s handicapped! So inspiring!

I haven`t thought that way about that many in years, luckily.

It can be easily achieved if you`re friends with a wheel chair person or trans sexual or whoever. That easy.

Yet, in our disclosed society, it seems pretty difficult.

I`m a product of that society. During every year of my life, most days, I haven`t really gone to that many places, daily, besides the school I am in and my home (which is why I wanna travel).

Sure, I`ve traveled with my family and all that, but that hasn`t made me more social, because we spent time with ourselves. Not peeps we just met. Because they prolly suck.

I hate people sometimes.

From fictional characters, to "ordinary" folks, to all those snobby artists who make the same cynical points everyone else does, to those optimists who don`t aknowledge facts, to those who do, to those who don`t like me because of something I said, to myself, to those Americans or people of my own country who claim that foreigners are happier than me, to foreigners who are happier than me, to me, to me, to me, to me...Yet, I love myself. I love others. Or like them. I`m a dual person.

I can`t make sense of myself.  

But...I was like that when I was a teenager...Or two years ago...Actually, I`m like that when I`m unhappy. But, I`ve been happier recently. Which means, that, pretty soon, eventually, I`ll be unhappy again.

I write so much of my thoughts to this blog. I should be transferring them to comics. Maybe I will eventually. Would be cool. Maybe I`ll publish my blog as a book. Hell, maybe I`ll publish it as a musical album or series of `em.

Or as a collection of pictures of refrigerator doors full of word magnets that form every sentence from this blog.

Or write every text in this to walls of a building or buildings with nail polish.

Or write them to moons surface (that is covered with dust), using my fingers. It`s not terribly windy there, so they would saty there for who knows how long (?). 

Maybe I...

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Do I hate myself?

No.

I just don`t like myself sometimes.

It seems to be difficult for me to be something very easy: Tolerant. Sometimes I think, say and write that I am, but that is horsepiss.

I don`t really communicate that well with people, even if I know them very well (but if you think that way, you`re not really doing yourself a service).

I`m lazy.

I procrastinate.

My ideas are useless (everything is, while not being so).

I do`n utilize my skills enough.

I think too much of myself.

Too little of myself.

I`m a bit racist sometimes (so are you, I guess, if you`re not, that`s awesome).

I think that something is my fault when it really isn`t.

I think that something isn`t, when it actually is.

I don`t think of sexy fat ladies when I masturbate. Or sexy negro ladies. Or sexy Japanese ladies. I`m so use to these scandinavic beige faces that it`s natural of me to think that way. Same for many others. Sometimes it`s not really because of dickery, that you see so many same looking persons everywhere. It`s natural. Which is sickening. 

I think I`m an awful person. That`s horrible, stupid and dull.

Well, okay, I don`t really think so.

FINE FINE FINE!!!! Sometimes I do. For a LITTLE while, every once in a while.

I`m only 19. All these thoughts are due to some fucking moronic crisis, that will eventually pass away.

But what if they feelings will stay? Shucks...I...I...um.

I should not be so condescending.
Though, if I wouldn`t be, I`d hope I would be.

I should stay quiet more often.
 
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I feel good.











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