Paint the day with improvidence. Let me see my own mistakes. Provide pencils and papers and pens. So I can plan for my escape. Break these habits abruptly. Cut the power to…(cut the power to!). A conclusion is reached: a new subject is needed. And the verbs are all the same: Eat, sleep, drink, work, release waste, dream and be deceived. Can one really call this living? And tell me what's worth living for? Drop the worth of space and time. Trying to drown out my rational being with a prayer and a smile if I can muster... this is circumstance. "What am I? I am what. This is circumstance and fuck it, it’s too hard, I give up."
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