Play with my pee pee fuck shit retard blasphemy terd face fuck you die die die useless trash =D

No one is really here to interact with me. They’ll smash the like button and run away. People have said things.

No one’s brave enough to make friends.

That door shut surprisingly fast.

Sorry, some metacognition there.

Anyway.

If I dare even set foot in the entrance of my own blogging space with my personal thoughts, my delusions threaten to eat me alive.

So yeah, can’t just jump right into it or else I get like psych-stabbed.

Fucking useless bitch fuck twitch streamers.

Faggots. Dirge on society.

Not because I’m jealous that they make money and I don’t for being lazy useless terds.

But because they are the subject of my delusions. Their voices and personas get stuck in my head. And that’s illegal and evil and I want them to die.

Abusive cyber bullies at mass scale. That’s what twitch streamers are. With hordes of mindless peons to do their bidding. Including hackers. Behind the scenes transactions? For sure.

Retards.

I could go on about how useless and vile twitch is and everyone on it but I’d be psych-stabbed by their owner, Jeff Bezos. The ultra-slime.

Okay back to real life. I’m disturbed, I don’t know by what, but I can write and think my thoughts and yes, the voices are loud and irritating, but I’ll try to ignore them. Seems smarter to fight than to ignore the problem, but all psychiatric professionals say to ignore the problem. More retards. Fuck them.

K anyway.

I’m calmer today. I find myself not in such an antsy rush to make more coffee, get to the computer, find my home (it is gone, fyi).

I can just sort of slowly walk through the house. Pause. Long pauses. Sit in my chair, stare off into space.

Nothing is really wrong.

It’s nice.

The musicality of voice. Human communication and its interaction with music, the overlap. Fascinating essay topic. I need to write more essays. I tried to start one but the inspiration was too powerful so it fizzled. The inspo came during sleep, so that explains.

I’m starting to reach the cusp of like, where, I actually feel the NEED to exercise. For the longest time I really didn’t fucking want to exercise and I hated everything about it. If only society hadn’t pressured me into anxiety-induced depression over not wanting to exercise. Fitness shaming at its finest.

Fuckers. Useless trash.

Anyway. I’m past that. But now I’ve recovered, the recovery would’ve been nicer on my own and not peer pressured tbh. But I’ve recovered nonetheless, I cannot stress how painful it was because of fitness shamers at large. Social forces are real. We live in a ruthless barbarian encampment. Best way I can put it. Earth is a ruthless barbarian encampment. Yep.

So I should write essays. And I’m starting to feel the NEED to exercise. Not influenced by anyone, purely originating in my own soul, the urge to be healthier. And my brain knows that exercise will make its body healthier. So. Natural symbiosis, my brain and my body. And myself, along for the ride. But it’s all about me.

There’s so much stigma, guys. It’s fucked. Is why I have no qualms letting you know you’re all useless trash for propagating it. Fuck you.

Anyway.

Yeah. I guess. I have a lot more on my mind. Novellas. Not tomes, maybe, but definitely novellas. Not literally, just the quantity metaphor.

Mm.

I don’t care if it sounds good. There’s more than way to perfection. Grow up.

I’m tired.

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