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Mar 2019

This is actually a little snippet of the short story I'm writing:

"Sometimes, Sal breaks down in his lone studio apartment that he rents for $950 a month, the one where the curtains are always tightly pulled to and the refrigerator never seems to be full enough; he sits in the corner of his bedroom, the one with the uneven pictures lining the walls, the frames outlining the sort of people Sal loves but never sees enough, and he just sits in the silent loneliness of his one-bedroom flat. Sal cries, sometimes, but mostly he sits and wonders if he’ll ever be the man worthy of holding Annette. Of cherishing her the way Perfection is intended to be. And it might just be this prison he lives in, Sal reasons, the one that always seems too loud when he breathes. The one that never seems big enough for his claustrophobia, but at the same time seems achingly too big for just himself to occupy."

“AAASDAsdasadasdaaasasasaasasaASADADADADADASDASASDADADASADASDADASD”
At the corner of the room, that boy screamed to his heart’s content – he smashed his table and threw his accessories all around the room – he threw himself onto the floor and made the largest of rackets – he broke windows, tossed chairs, smashed his head on the wall over and over and over and over again – blood spurted from his disgusting forehead and he ran his fingers across the walls until the surface of his skin broke in a most ruthless manner. Yes, he took the shards of glass and he carved despicable thoughts on his skin, and he ripped the ceiling fan down from the ceiling – the wires tugged desperately to the wall above, and the boy made a make-shift noose – yes, his body hung in that room for God knows how long.
…except he didn’t do any of these things – he was a dishonest boy indeed – all he did was crouch down at the corner of the rom and weep to himself silently. His peers detested him greatly – they carried on with their work.

*

I’m gay, lol. Except I’m not, I just need to write something in this section. Maybe I’ll put it in italics too to make it look like an extremely important quote.

*

As the Maths lesson droned on, a girl named Mathilda stopped by the back window of the room. Spring was in full bloom, and cherry blossoms fluttered around her in a really dramatic way – so dramatic that I don’t even want to write in his literary way anymore fuck this, let’s just write normally right now.
So anyways, this girl named Mathilda stops by the window, and she looks into the classroom to see all of these diligent Asians with their faces down in their paper and writing like the little Chink robots they are – except one of them – no, one of them was a brown little shit, probably from some shit-hole country in SEA – and he was in the corner crying his little eyes out. Mathilda felt bad for him for a small moment, but she then realised that she had to get to her English teacher’s office quickly so she could suck his dick and avoid being expelled for how illiterate of a girl she is. She could taste bitterness in her mouth already, but at this point, it was just a normal Tuesday afternoon.
Except it was Wednesday at the time.
*
The setting of this scene is one where the sun is making its preparations to set – in short, it was dusk. The sky was orange in a most beautiful fashion, and the sun filtered by the light clouds created a warm tint to the scenario – like an old worn out photograph, taken with a polaroid camera, perhaps.
At the centre of the school was a monstrously tall tree that overlooked the entirety of the suburb, and at the very top sat the boy himself, hanging his legs playfully over the branch and playing a sorrowful tune on his half-cracked ocarina. The melody soared throughout the land, yet the only response he could make out were the echoes of his own instrument. Stopping now, the world became silent again, and he considered jumping off and attempting to sprout wings-
-which was exactly what he did. Of course, his ocarina came crashing down, shattering into a million pieces – however, the same could not be said for his head. It is true that he landed on the concrete head first, but all he could manage was a little chip off of his head – though, that didn’t matter much, for the crack healed away by the time he raised himself. He peered down at the blood on the ground and wondered if it was even his – nevertheless, he despaired at the fact that he simply could not die.

Why does one exist? Why cannot one self terminate?
Why was this one born? Should this one have been born?
This one seeks the end, the true end. A death beyond death, an erasure of being.
A place of nothingness, a place of non being, a place where nothing exists. That is this one's true paradise.
Why can this one not achieve paradise? Why is this one born to suffer? Why does this one exist where another would've been better?
What is being? What is this one? Why can this one not die?

6 months later

just thought of this on a whim: two chefs who are competing against one another has to bake the best cake, but they are both bad at it because baking cakes is one of their worst skills in. they are great in their cuisines though. each of them have a 5-star restaurant which has received extremely good reviews from yelp and other critics. they wanted to compete because they made a bet with each other. the one who wins the competition would have to shut down their restaurant and leave the eatery industry for fecking ever :smiley:

I need to find and attentively analyze in detail a theorem, which name I've forgotten, and which I need to use in my paper. But it appeared to be complicated and my brain exploded. Now I want to eat ice cream, surfing internet and draw a profession sheet.

Also I'm tired to be some bystander who always clap on people that are became successful than me. I'm tired that they will no longer recognize or need me anymore, for my support is taken for granted.

I'm tired that I'm always a bystander, nothing exciting or remarkable ever happening to me. My chances always expire or taken away by some main characters.

I'm tired to always become the shadow of the lights.

I've became spiteful, and enjoying other people's suffering. I do not care if they suffer, they should suffer, their life are already better than me anyway. For fairness' sake make them suffer.

When can I be something? I can't even be the main character in my own story.

My god...will I be okay going to that CNC Machinists and 3D Printing Enthusiasts Association today? Urgh. I need a drink. It's early. Don't judge me. If I puke my guts out then I'd have an excuse to leave! Oh, wait, but I don't want to leave. I've been saving up for this! Graaah! Wonder what kind of tactical situation the grounds will present? I could totally fantasy roleplay in my head combat scenarios between... Sara and Veronica? Hm. No, that didn't go so well, the last time. Super embarrassing, too. I mean, what, hasn't anyone seen a guy standing in the middle of a mall, staring at a potted plant for... what, 5 minutes? 15? Bah. Couldn't have been more than 30 minutes, I swear. My butt itches. Oh wait, is thatf;-

stupid migraine aura is in the way of me drawing...can't see around it. ARG! brain, keep it together pls?

I cant wait for my interview tuesday. Maybe I can finally be free from only being paid through tips.

I was thinking about death recently. I'm not sure heaven would be a cloud city, but i want to believe we get our own little pocket dimensions or realities we get to create and morph at will. If it works like that, and i'm really gonna make an effort to try when i'm on the other side, i'm gonna make a dark and gritty, yet beautiful world. Those of you who read my stuff know that i got a thing for rainy days, so in my world i want it to a place that rarely has sunshine but always has a refreshing cool sky of grey clouds. I want the atmosphere to play piano, string orchestras, and other types of musical sounds in a harmonic and slow way. And then i want to present my world to an angel, and ask him or her to dance with me in that cold yet invigorating rain. Atop the highest cliffs of a smooth stone rectangular prism reaching the skies yet not far enough to deafen the sound of the shores below, i will make a house and live in the warmth of a nearby fire...

thinking of the beauty i want to experience for eternity.

This isn't the only life i want to live in my world. I want to switch between a life with the little things like cleaning my stuff, taking care of a pet, making my bed, preparing food, enjoying that food, and whatever else i think i need to do. Then after i've finished my chores, i want to live like a god and soar the skies, living everyday like a dream. A life where i never have to fear anything ever again. The thing i want most is an endless dream after death.

I made a good profession sheet, but after saving the file was broken (I suppose, due some photoshop glitch?). Psd file won't open anymore. When I've opened the file in HEX redactor, it was nothing besides 0's inside, i.e. information was lost entirely.
It is the second time I encounter such an issue. It is very sad to think that I will need to redo everything... it really ruined my mood :sweat:
I think, I'll try another Photoshop version and will also check all my files for adequacy before closing them in Photoshop. I'm fed up with this shit, when several hours of work are lost. :rage:

Weekend's are a sanctuary for me. Saturdays especially. Sometimes, I have to cram an assignment in the span of 24 hours on Sunday. But not on Saturdays.

This particular Saturday, I just binged Netflix all day. Stand-up comedies and documentaries. Bo Burnham gave me a minor existential crisis. Ali Wong made me freak out over having children and laughing 'til my stomach cramped. The documentary series Alt-Right had me wondering how America ended up so fucked up. So much hatred and no middle ground. I wonder how everyone can hope for a better future, can work towards a better future when polarized media divides our thoughts.

Saturdays are my sanctuary. I can relax and live and think of things that matter. Not about a number on a paper with a fancy three letter acronym - GPA.

Life suck sometime my teacher got me sick because he can't use technology. I had to turn in a paper but he had the flu so now I am sick with something that is not the flu.

Lemon cake is delicious when it isnt overly bitter :heart:

Taking another leap of faith. Despair and humiliation isn't a misfortune. It's a price you must pay alone.

$285 short on the mortgage. I have to get another job. Either the time, or the money, never both. Got to get these repairs done while I have the time. Depressed, pick up some St. Johns Wart. Hope it helps, something had better help. Depression makes for lousy job interviews. When will I have the time to write?