I don’t know the fuck.

I am trying to “be myself” and not doing a good job. I am being a BAD PERSON instead.

How qually.

Or qualifactor.

What else would you say, though?

I don’t really know the vice of merit.

What is it?

What is any of this.

I hate Jewish people.

Ugh.

…

So many Americans have such bad taste.

…

Writers write good things, but they themselves are unpleasant to interact with.

I know this from previously running a literary magazine.

…

I don’t know hoe heit je.

Or whatever.

…

hi, lo, down, south.

What else could it be?

I’m so tired. No satisfaction on these fucking pills.

Pharma in america is fucked.

I don’t know what else to say.

My parents are problematic. I don’t know what I’m doing wrong that they turn into such monsters all the time.

And they’re always injured, or in pain, or yelling.

What fucks.

Hey there slimy neighbor in the area, have you considered committing suicide yet?

Now the cops will arrest me for violating freedom of speech restrictions.

I don’t need a lawyer though.

I just need a good prison sentence.

For the neighbor in the neighborhood yelling at the top of their lungs like a psycho.

Well.

If politics, !politics.

That means no more yelling.

Oops.

…

That wasn’t enough, as well.

Fuckers want to fuck me.

Hallucinations, noisy neighborhood, and shitty everything seem to play well together. They are a competitive trio, and fuck me over very effectively.

Werry gut.

…

Or whatever.

I don’t know.

What the fuck.

Shitty memories of people I used to know.

I’ve never really liked anyone.

Ever.

…

School separated my brothers and I, and now it’s work.

And we’re all poor.

We’re all poor.

Oops.

…

What fuck. Shit fuck ass nigger thizz bitch.

Fuck you.

What else would you like? Some rum-cake?

…

I do’t know the apocalypse, but it would divide.

So in sum.