Well, one of them.

It’s the only thing that’s making me want to keep living. I feel like I’ve been shat out of god’s asshole but at least I have this.

The worst thing is that I have a fucking job to do and I can’t let my team down. Right now it’s crucial that deadlines are met as are expectations. How am I supposed to perform if I have to fight through this unexplainable sickness? I wish I’d just figured my shit out and worked harder and spent time doing things that didn’t fuck me up, things that would make me feel proud to be alive.

This game has come at the perfect time in my life. What right now feels like the deepest darkness, may reveal in a mirror our individual karma.

With these stained hands, I will touch you and understand your shape.

You have no idea how many feels are happening to me right now

Too bad none of you can login to niconico and watch with me

I am seriously really crying. These are two of my favorite people in the whole world

(noda yojiro and fujiwara motou)

AND THEY’RE SINGING EACH OTHER’S SONGS

I don’t want to lie here and feel miserable anymore. I don’t want to suffer through pain inflicted by my own hand, from my own stupid mistakes that I failed to learn from. I want to believe in a future where I can smile with the people around me. I want to see the “more” that I’ve been missing out on, with fear gnawing away at my skin and hesitation pumping through my veins. There has to be something better, and I have to be at least able to try to do something about it.

I don’t give a shit about any of the fallacies I chose to desperately cling to in all of my infinite weakness. I was wrong and I accept that. Faithlessness has led me to the final corner of depravity which, at the flip of a coin, my pursuer will unmask himself and extend the hand I’d been denying. The world isn’t too bright for the likes of me. I can join it and finally be free from this dark solitude that is killing me. I can shake off the poison and recover steadily, in a healthier environment. It doesn’t have to hurt; I can do something. And someone amazing is waiting for me on the other side.

I beg of you, set me free. You’ve been waiting all along, all alone.

I don’t wanna try that again becaus e I think that its mostly being really high because at least when I’m drunk, I can form a coherent (whatever the hell that means for me) sort of rhetoric that is just me being a gigantic ass.

I still have some vodka left and theres also an entire drink with my name written on it. Man versus the machine. No wait. That’s wrong. It’s man versus his biology. there we go

a much more ancient sort of battle, mind over matter. an acceptance of doome’d dualism

an exploitation over the futility of things

I fucking hate that word.

Futility.

A word that embodies the entirety of despair, total darkness, a mess too big to walk away from.

The only form of escape is acceptance, and that can only be obtained by the realization that this, too will end.

My commas are in the wrong places.

I think I’ll have that drink now, excuse me.

Did you wait for me? Was I long? I’m sorry to make you wait. ITs so painful isn’t it? Waiting over and over and over until the end comes but your feet are hardly out the door. It all just makes you wanna keel over before you even get your socks on. My socks are the last thing I put on in the morning and itt takes me at least hirty meanutes before asock even finds its woay around my foot.

<prre <pre More drinks are coming. Here comes the sun, its too bright and my e’yes are scared. So scared of you and what you’ll think next time we manage to cross paths in this diluted aerospace exploration mission. If you’r seeing me as I am you swould be so ashamed, as would I, and yet it would be strangiely enthralling. An exhiviraionsist exhibitionist I seem to be. Masochistic at the heart because I enjoy the pained expressions of the righteaousl y wronged damned. I am darkness itself, a loss of all good and deliverence to evil’s front door step. Like the stoner pizza delviery boy to the appartment at the deepest depths of hell, where statan’s meth lab cousin is like bro hello thanjk you gor the pizza and

I’ m like -== that will be thewelve nighntey five and he’s like hey man, I only got a twenty. Lemme get like all seven dollars and five cents  back

is that the right mat?h

and I’m like nigga where s my tip

and he’s like fuck you I hate your face

and I say aww

becayse not even satian’s meth dealer chemist cousin at tge university of gell’s deepest depoths wiykd love aa ruined piece of shit like me

I need to stop reaidng depressing manga I wonder what It’ll do to me in this state of imind

I might just fucking kill myself

you’d LOVE THAT WOULDNT YOU

AHAHAHAHHAHAH HERE WE FUCKING GO YOU PIECE OF FUCKING FUCKS

GP ROT IN THE OLOWEST LEVELS OF HELL WHER UYOU FBELONg

Don’t likesten to me I’m only joking

I don’t need helps eriously its okay

I’m dujust really drunk and want to see how ashamed of myself I’

l be on public television when Im’ tin the morning.

Good t hisng I don’t give a fuck because no one cares about eme

that’s fcheicking the fuckng dtrick is to not care

cause it’s like four in the morning and I’m reakly dunrk drunk and no one will listen to my wrgreaing rants =that suck bas xthe

I become too unilntleligeable for people to ttry ro grasph so rthat ‘It’s just like oh theres another drunk sad post vby vein he’s probably needs to see a doctror

and I’m like yes ah probably.

Happy Thursday morning to you too.

Oh god damn it is this going to turn into another drunk writing fiasco? I think it must.

At a certain point these things happen. No one can stop them, not you, not I. Nor the end of time, as far as the eye can be concerned. Consternation! Contracting confessions! Rumble in the jungle gym!

Don’t tell me to shut up. How could you leave me like this, I’m a lost soul with no real sense of being. The last of a dying breed of foolish mortals. A man amongst men, yet none can see past the cliffs of eternity. He is the only one to have scaled the scaly peaks that scatter the edge of the heavens into patches of blue and white. A raven amongst the few hawks. All of the lesser foul are deceased. Couldn’t take the air pressure. The damned fools, a waste if I’ve ever seen of intelligent potential. Squandered away like Squanto, the poor bastard. Why does California think that nigga is so important anyway? They’re like “motherfucking Squanto he fucking squanted the shit out of pedestrians” and “I’m like what an utterly tormented soul” why did you have to fucking die? All of the good ones do, before they can say anything to make a difference. And that’s what real tragedy is. A squandered potential.

“Why God?”

not’by god”or ‘my god’.

nor is it “Why, god?”

No.

Why does this God have to exist? What purpose does he serve? Why isn’t anything the result of our misguided delusions? The reality behind the masquerade. This ship, or whatever sort of mode of transport you will, has sunk. Or whatever mode of vehicular demise you wish.

The harmonica is a wondrous instrument. Its power lies in the raw tone, the breath behind the player. It sings like any voice would, because that is all it knows. So fucking soulful. An explosion of remembrance, the first birdcall you’ve ever heard, or

what how can this be the truth? there is a bleeding

I am bleeding

my heart

is the blood of jesus

Ears are going to medical purposes

medicinal? The healing of a cancer in its final act,

the most wonderful curtains drawn as the cast goes for its bow,

theatre acting upon the sonic soundscape

BLASPHEMY

IRONY IN THE FULLEST SENSE

MIASMA THAT CACKLES AS I COLLAPSE BREATHLESS TO THE WOODEN

EVERGLADES OF PURE ENERGY, REVITALIZING LIKE THE FULL MOON

HOWL INTO THE NIGHT

ANANDANDNANDSLNSKFDKFFJGLJH:D:”FAfqw

That feeling when you lose control and become aN ANIMAL