Downloading Orange Box. Garry’s Mod soon.
Decided not to trash TF2. I figgin’ hate when shit goes down with this thing, though, when I lose control of a machine that I rely on. Quite sad. Quite true. Quite the race we’ve become. Quite the society that we are in. Thoughts. Ideas. Not our own. Emotions. Shit, man… no. Fuckin…
So angry. She’s everywhere. In my head, twisting my mind, unaware of one of her many marionettes. How many others like me? I don’t care. I had this under control, man, I was doin’ fine, man, I was… man.
My art has been suffering from this as well. Nothing original, nothing new. All she inspires now is a deep hatred for myself and stale images of Prismacolor sillhouettes.
Writing’s been brought to a halt. Recycling the same words, phrases, ideas… revisiting unused concepts to escape from this shit stained emotional bullshit’s going on.
“Hey. Nothing personal, but I just thought that you should know that my chest is imploding from the pressure of my emotions for you, and I may die from a massive heart attack. It’s all your fault. See you Thursday.”
And I could go on, and on, and on. But who cares?
