Bang, Thud, Pop. Happy New Year.

Let's see. 

Wow what's not to see. Glaring mistakes, obvious mishaps, avoidable problems, and all in all, heartbreaking attitude. What else happened, I wonder if you wonder. What else happened in the miserable life of this fat, ugly fuck who writes horrible things about himself on the internet? 

Not much, I'd say, but let me tell you a story. A story about New Year's Day. An unconventional one.

...

My dad has cancer.

These words are dreaded by everyone in the entire fucking planet, no matter your social position, no matter your wealth. Yet these words have been ringing inside my head for the last few weeks, and there's nothing I can do about it. This year has been a fucking disastrous clusterfuck of a shitshow, and this is, I guess, the proverbial cherry on top.

It's raining outside. My hands are on the keyboard that I just bought, typing away whatever the fuck that goes on in my head. I need an outlet. A place where I can pour everything and then just forget about it, at least for a while. Yes, this year has been terrible, and there's nothing more terrible than someone you love having cancer. 

Oh don't worry, I'm sure he'll be fine. There are lots of cancer survivors out there who can testify. Your dad is a very strong man, I'm sure. He'll pull through.

Yeah, fuck that.

I didn't say a terrible week, or a terrible month. I said a terrible year. You know what that means? It means the whole fucking year has been absolutely vicious to me. It tore me apart both physically and mentally. This year marks the year where I gave in, where I lost the battle, where I succeeded in failing. This year was the year I lost hope, lost faith, and lost all understanding. This year, I was fucked. Hard.

I'm not going back it seems. I'm stuck here for now. You might say it's okay, I can take care of my dad. Fuck that. My dad is an egotistical motherfucker. He'd rather die than bowing down to others. That's the kind of man he is. That's the kind of man he wants me to be. He doesn't accept failure. Guess what I am? A fucking failure is the answer. You think he wants me near him? You think I want to be near him? You think I want to stay and bear all the fucking burden of being the failure of my father's life? I'm his son. I have an ego as well. He taught me well. Fuck everyone else and suck your ego's dick. 

Maybe he's gonna die. Maybe he'll live. One day he's gonna go anyways. That one day, I have been thinking of all my life. I don't want him seeing me as a failure as he goes. It's one of my biggest fears. Yet here I sit on this terrible chair, a fucking failure, and my dad has cancer.

People around me are beginning to lose hope in me. Some lost hope a long time ago, they're just putting on a charade because it's their duty to give a shit. People around me are starting to lose trust in my bullshit. Some lost trust in me completely long ago, they're just saying shit in hopes I stop saying all these stuff. Maybe a few people still care. Maybe a few. Too few. And these people don't say enough. I don't believe them. Why do people who care don't say enough? Are they stupid? Why do those who don't care say the most?

I'm sitting in front of the screen right now, and I'm getting a strange feeling. I feel like....a spent bullet that missed its target. Yeah, that's kinda accurate.

I was among my peers. I was readied for use. 

Bang. 

I was triggered and went off with a loud, cracking noise. My exterior fell off as I flew.

Thud.

I missed and now I'm stuck in a wall. I leave behind a crack and a small hole.

To get me out, they had to use a pair of pliers or whatever. They had to pull me with force. They grunted. 

Pop.

I came out, battered and different than before.

Now I'm only good as a piece of writing on a ballistics report.

That crack and hole that I left behind? Some would look at it and think, 

"What a waste of a bullet."

"What a shit shooter."

"I'll get that plastered."

"Who's gonna pay for that?"

And such. Yes, that mark will soon be forgotten, and I'll still be just a piece of writing on a ballistics report.

So excuse me when I say fuck this year. I've had a terrible year. Let me be and one day I'll be off not disturbing any of you fucks anymore, or just come kill me and be done with it. Either way's fine. If not, just fuck off.

...

Sad story huh. For everyone who announces to the fucking world how wonderful their year has been and how they're looking forward to the next, there will be some poor bastard who is in the same boat as the dude in the story. We rarely hear from them though, because who wants to hear a bum story from a bum dude? We all want to hear happy stories. That's how fucked up everyone is, and yet they scream for humanity every fucking day.

Fuck 2015. 

Fuck 2016 as well.

And fuck all of you.

Sail

I was bored one day, and I decided to open all my apps in my phone to see what the hell they do. Then I opened Snapchat. Saw some random pictures and videos. Then I came across a picture, it was by a friend, a very dear one. I couldn't make out the picture itself, but it was a soothing darkness with different shades of grey and black. It had the time on it as well, and on it's right corner, slanted about 45 degrees, were the words "sail - awolnation". What the fuck is "sail - awolnation"? I wondered.

I was bored one day, and I decided to boot my Spotify and listen to songs. I opened random playlists and listened to whatever songs that came out. They were bleak and boring so in the end I listened to my own playlists, consisting of the usual stuff; metal, folk, 90s, pop rock, 50s etc etc. I then felt this sudden, sort of like WHOOSH sound in my head and the image from my dear friend's Snapchat Story appeared. sail - awolnation. I looked it up. Of course it was a song, I thought.

Blame it on my ADD, baby

I've been in very dark places. Places where fire can never light up. I've thought of the most horrible thoughts. Thoughts that make me shudder and ashamed of myself. Imagine thinking about things, then being ashamed at yourself for thinking about it. How fucked up is that. No, I'm not talking about pooping yourself in public or killing a cat, I'm talking things that would shame generations. Nevertheless, we all do it sometimes, don't we? Sometimes we just can't control our train of thought. Sometimes it wanders into the darkest of places and brings back with it the king of shames and it's entire kingdom. 

That kind of darkness is not your doing, it's not anyone's doing. Where there's light, there will be dark. We know that. It's how the world works. Hell, it's how Star Wars works. But what if you could create your own darkness, then blame it on something else?

Something like, your ADD? Or maybe...

Your demons?

Chance

Have you ever had this feeling of hate without any reason? Like you just hate something just because. No solid reason. Maybe you hate something because how the thing is.

Of course, we all have things we hate because they fucking deserve hate. Like ISIS, or more recently Donald Trump. Sometimes we even hate ourselves, and I'm not talking about some emo episode that one time because you listened to Red Jumpsuit Apparatus or All-American Rejects or whatever the fuck. I'm talking about self-loathing that can only be paralleled by, say, your extreme fondness of your cat, or how kids love ice-cream. That kind of self-hate. We've all done it. Some handle it better than others, some kill themselves. That's reality. Reality sucks. 

People often hate because they are afraid. Hate is a defense mechanism. We hate Trump because of how his ideology is endangering Muslims and Mexicans. We are afraid of change, be it good or bad. That's why we hate. Lo and behold, we human beings are so fucked up we use negativity to counter everything. Yes, everything. 

You must've had a friend who you never wanted. They just stick the fuck around. You hate this friend, for whatever fucking reason, maybe he once took your pen and never gave it back, or maybe she fucked your dad, or maybe just because. 

You must have a certain artist you hate. Maybe you hate the appearance of this particular artist, or maybe you just hate the genre. Maybe when you were a kid you saw a cat die and that particular artist was singing in the background, or maybe just fucking because.

Maybe you hate others because you're afraid of what they are gonna do to you once they get close to you. Yeah maybe some asswipe once broke your fragile heart into a million tiny pieces and boo hoo you can't fucking pick up the pieces. 

Maybe you hate yourself because you've disappointed yourself, or others for that matter, too many times and you feel like a worthless piece of fuck. Maybe you feel you're too useless to live and boo hoo no one is picking you up from the ground.

I've had my dad yell at me countless of times because I used the word "hate". I don't see the reason. It's a word. It described my feelings. It's four letters with a very strong meaning. Most of all, it's not a fucking curse word. I didn't understand. I still don't understand. Why can't I use the word hate? I was brought up in a very, very patriarchal family. Dad is boss. That's it. I never questioned. What a fucking mistake it was.

It's okay to hate. It's normal. Don't worry about hating. Whatever you're hating probably deserves it anyway. You can hate literally everything and it would be fine, at least in my books. What's abnormal is not giving these things a chance.

I'm a music junkie. I mostly listen to metal and other hard music, but I enjoy literally all kinds of music. I'm not exaggerating. Yes I used to hate many other genres because they were not metal. I called them sissy music. Pussy music. Girly music. Gay music. I was brought up in a patriarchal family, so please excuse my casual usage of homophobic insults. For the record, I'm not homophobic. Now, how come I love all kinds of music? Because I gave it a chance.

There was this one night I remember. My head was so heavy yet I felt as though I was floating. I was at a friend's place and I remember looking around that dank and stuffy living room. My friends were talking in murmurs. Low pitched, low volume, low enunciation. I couldn't make out anything they were saying. I didn't give a shit though. The TV was on. It was connected to a laptop and Youtube was on. Someone played some random songs.

It was beautiful. I felt happy. I smiled all through the 3 or 4 songs that someone, don't know who, put on. God they were good. I felt euphoric. I felt this carnal cathartic conscience just bursting out of my extremely heavy but floating head. Goosebumps followed. My spine was tingling. I heard less and less from my friends in the room and more and more of the songs that were playing. I closed my eyes and focused on what the lyrics were. They were beyond magnificent. They were love stories.

Then I realised I was listening to Justin Bieber. It was a pleasant surprise. Yeah I was in the bandwagon of hatred towards the Canadian cunt-wrecker. I listened to Baby back in the day and I was so appalled by it. This was when I hated all other music because they were not metal. I snapped out of my little epiphany and continued to browse other songs similar to What Do You Mean. Sorry was next, then I had some Ariana Grande, then some Nicki Minaj, then more and more pop music. I started to continuously nod my head according to the tempo. I like these songs, I thought. What the fuck.

Eventually the power of the majority overcame my plethora of euphoria. My mates wanted to watch some fucking movie. Can't remember what. That means it wasn't significant enough to overcome my sudden fondness of pop music. Like what the actual fuck I liked Justin Bieber. For the first time in my entire life I liked him. Why? I gave him a chance.

You hate someone? Give them a chance. Two chances. Three. Whatever. Maybe some people are an acquired taste. I have friends who are so stupid people usually stay away from them. Nevertheless, I gave them a chance and I found out I like these crazy mother fuckers. A loved one shattered your precious little red, beating heart? Give them a chance, at least for a fucking explanation. You hate yourself? You wanna kill yourself? You wanna end it all? Give life another chance. 

You were a result of chance, and there are people who will fucking dive into a pool of acid just so you would move the fuck along in life. These people gave you a chance. Use it.

Maybe fuck you

It's that time of the year again. People are leaving. Goodbyes are being thrown out, obligations to make time for those who are heading off etc etc.

I've never been so good with goodbyes. I feel that goodbyes are unnecessary. Why the fuck would you bid someone adieu anyway? Maybe if they are dying you should, but other than that I don't see the fucking point.

But hey, you wanna say goodbye to someone? Go ahead. I won't say anything. I don't agree with it, but I don't give two shits about what you do.

Maybe someday I'll change. We all do. Maybe someday I'll meet someone who truly deserves my goodbye, someone I will truly miss when he/she leaves. We never know with these things. Maybe I'll stop listening to metal because someone shows me another kind of music that resonates with me better. Maybe I'll start working out and shed a few kilos off my ass. Maybe I'll stop fucking up my life because someone is worth not fucking anything up.

Life is full of maybes, so don't you say "we say goodbye because it's set in stone that we wish it to someone who is leaving" because MAYBE that person isn't really leaving, or MAYBE I just don't give a fuck. I like the latter reason a bit more.

I'm sure it's nice that people put an effort to please you in your last few days somewhere. I've never felt anything like it so maybe I'm just bitter. Then again, why the fuck would people make an effort in your last few days when they never gave a fuck before? 

"Oh he's still here next year fuck him I'll hang with him later."

Maybe if people stop doing this shit we won't be having World Wars.

A Middle Finger To All Of You

I feel a bit happier nowadays. I give less shit, I expect less, I care about myself a bit more, and I just give middle fingers to all adversities life throws at me. Maybe the sunshine this shit city has been getting a lot these days have really helped, even though I still spend 80% of my time beside a window.

Yeah Wellington is a shit city. It's too windy, too unpredictable, too expensive, and holy shit I spent 30 minutes trying to get parking just now. Still, I love it. It's shit but it's still lovable. Maybe it's because I've been expecting so much less about everything lately that I finally think I love this place.

The people is nice as well in general. Smiles aplenty, warm welcomes galore, and just enough darkness to keep you on your toes. They're not perfect, but they sure as hell try, and to me, that's what counts. By people, I mean true Wellingtonians. Kiwis. The locals. My people? My people are a funny bunch. I don't feel like I should elaborate, because Malaysians are Malaysians, no matter where the fuck they end up going.

I received some fucked-up news not too long ago. I fucked up. This was not some fuck-up you can just brush off like dandruff-on-your-shoulders-because-you-forgot-to-shampoo fuck-up, it's more like the fuck-up where you consider blowing up a fuckton of rabbits just so you wanna feel like you helped decimate the innocence in the world kind of fuck-up. Yeah I said it.

However, I didn't feel that way when I got the news. It was more like finally getting home after a long-ass drive so you can shit peacefully in your own toilet. A sense of relief. Like getting to let go of a piece of ember you were forced to clench in your fists by the powers that be. It was messed up, and I was so fucking confused. How does one fuck up so hard but felt relief?

I can't wait to go back home. Oh, I don't fucking know when I'm going home because I still haven't bought my fucking tickets. Mom, please.

Sheep vs Wolf

"Hey, do you think me doing [insert whatever life decision here] is bad or good? Do you think people will think of me in [insert whatever negative thing here].?"

Why would you ask me this? Why would you ask anyone this? You're an adult, you know what's right and what's wrong. You also know what you want and what you don't want in life, or at least in your current phase in life. What I think of it is, or what anyone thinks of it for that matter, is irrelevant, unless you want it to.

So let me ask YOU a question, do you want my opinion to matter in your life decisions?

Need Patrick Jane or Cal Lightman

Have you ever told other people one thing, but do another? Don't shit me, because I know everyone does that. I do it all the time. I tell people I'll be studying for a test or something, but I end up binge watching The Inbetweeners on fucking Netflix. Why do we do this? Why do you do it?

Well I do it because I'm a liar.

We all lie. Again, don't give me any of your crap because WE ALL LIE. What degree our lies go to is a different matter. Why we lie is also a different matter. Also, there's a distinction between lying and being a liar. Me? I'm a fucking liar.

I lie everyday. I lie to everyone. Most people have tells that show they are lying, but me? I've been lying my whole life I don't have a tell, or maybe people just can't find it yet. Hell, even I don't know my tell. Lies just come out of my mouth like chocolate milk flowing to the mouth of a fatso.

I even lie to myself, and I believe them.

Fuck me I have issues.

Postal

It's funny, spending the night in a hospital ward because someone asked you to. Sure, you feel shitty and hopeless and helpless and maybe a little suicidal, but who would've guessed someone asked you, nicely, to go to a hospital to get checked out?

It's been a weird few weeks. It's three-quarters past 2015 and I still feel the same way I did mid 2014. I watched TI4 and TI5 and saw a shitload of changes to all Dota 2 teams. Honestly all the teams nowadays change like, as Katy Perry famously says, a girl changes clothes. It makes you feel old, how the Dota calendar changes so much. It's only been a year, yet so many changes around me. I, however, have not changed much.

I'm still not sure what the fuck is wrong with me.

It's frustrating to sit at one spot for more than a year. You get bed sores. You get cramps. You also get sympathisers. And like all bed-ridden vegetables, you can't do shit about it. At least veges know what disease they have. It's a simple thing, physical diseases; they get diagnosed with a simple scan or test. Not my case, though, not my case.

Motivation still eludes me. Sleep has been a come-and-go, sort of like an on-again-off-again affair. Fuck knows when I'll finish my assignments. I hate what I'm learning. I don't know what to do with my life. I also hate my life. I can continue, but people are going to think I'm some attention-seeking slacker who needs his balls licked by people on the internet. Fact of the matter is, I'm one gigantic fuck-up.

And all I want to do is trying to survive day-to-day.

So excuse me if I sound pathetic, if I seem to just want attention, if I write like a fucking degenerate, if I'm being obnoxious, if I'm being immature, if I look like a fool, if I fucking annoy you with my shit writing, or whatever negative ifs you can possibly think of. I have a life to live, and though it may not be as hard as our Middle-Eastern brothers and sisters, it's fucking terrible. Its. Fucking. Terrible. All I'm doing is trying to cope. So again, ex-fucking-cuse me.

I never wanted all this. You want to know my life goals? I just want a life where I can just contact someone, just one person, and tell literally anything without a shadow of a doubt that he/she will either laugh or say the right things to either humour me or comfort me. I want a life where I wake up in the morning and look forward to the day. I want a life where I can go out without feeling ashamed of myself. It's not much, but hey, life just wants to be a fucking bitch, so nuh-uh.

I'm pretty sure everyone will say their life is shitty from time-to-time, and I'm pretty sure they're right. I'm also pretty sure people will call me a crybaby and say fuck you fat fuck just grow a pair and live like normal people who have problems in life. Well, to that, I say fuck your whore mother. I don't expect you to understand. I just expect you to respect my life and how I choose to live it, as long as I don't come and shag your slut of a mother, which I won't, because I respect her.

Sorry for my language. I'm just a tad frustrated. My imagination runs wild at this hour and all I can think of is the world antagonising my entire life.

Maybe the whole world is.

Limits

The amount of times I say the word "fuck" per day is impossible to keep track of. I'm by no means a religious person. I believe in God and everything, don't worry. However, sometimes I just can't help thinking that God may have just abandoned me.

It's not a good thought to have, I know, but sometimes, you know, sometimes. Things become shitty at every turn, almost nothing goes your way, and people around you just seem to show you the middle finger; these all take a toll at a man's soul. Everyone has their limit, no matter how strong or resilient they are. I'm a mere human being. I have doubts about life and death.

I haven't come face-to-face with death just yet, God forbid it would be anytime soon. I have so much love to give, so much happiness to find, and there are people who love me, but sometimes, sometimes, these things don't seem to matter. Sometimes all I want is to die, and my imagination runs amok as to how I'd die. 

This makes it dangerous for me to go out. The things that I could do to kill myself out in the open, oh don't get started on it. 

And now I'm starting to sound dark. 

Don't be afraid, I've never had the guts to follow through with my suicidal plans. I have a coping mechanism; I force my adrenaline to rush the fuck out into my veins. I do stupid things. I approach death in safe ways. I do it so I know the feeling of almost dying, and trust me, it doesn't feel so good, at least not how I imagined it would be.

Death is painful, there's not doubt about that. Your whole body system failing one by one, your fingers numbing, then your limbs, then your abdomen, then your voice becomes hoarse and finally that one last breath you take. I can never imagine how it feels like. I've heard the stories of a prophet who tasted death and was resurrected immediately so he knew the feeling of dying. He described it as "being stabbed by 40 swords" or something, and fuck me I almost cried like a bitch when I first got an injection.

The sad thing is though, I always have to remind myself that death by my own hands is not worth it. I constantly need to tell myself there are people who love me, there's so much love in me that I need to spread, and there are so many things I haven't done, things I haven't seen. I haven't seen the tulip gardens of The Netherlands, The Kremlin, Japan, Ireland, Scotland, the Scandinavian countries. I haven't eaten the best foods in the world, gone skydiving, been on a surfboard, hike a mountain.

So many things.

Yet, I'm a mere human being. I have my limits as well. It's a battle of me against myself, or my demons, or whatever. I honestly have no idea what I'm up against, but it's one tough son of a bitch. The outcome of this battle cannot be a stalemate. My enemy, it doesn't want to stop. One day, either I or this entity will emerge victorious, and the whole world will know.

Fishmongers

I woke up at 2.30pm today. No classes, but still, what the fuck right? My sleep schedule is messed up. I have a pending assignment due two weeks ago, one due in two days and another due in 5 days. I'm messed up. I'm fucked. But I don't feel anything. Literally nothing. It's like I don't give a shit anymore. Maybe I don't.

It's a lot of maybes, that's for sure. I still have feelings, mind you. I feel happy, I feel sad, angry, high, all that stuff, but like I said in my previous post, nothing feels genuine. 

It shows when I go to class, attend functions and stuff, you know, socialising. Day-to-day communications and interactions and all the consequences of them, it feels fake. I'm not saying that people are fake, because they fucking are, I'm saying that I fake things. Why do I fake things? Why do I have to mask everything, sugarcoat everything? And why the fuck are people allowed to do whatever the fuck they want, but I don't seem to get that choice?

I'm not a selfish person, at least not entirely. I can be selfish, but most of the time I try not to be. It's what my mother taught me. Don't be selfish. Think about other people. Have empathy. Come to think of it, I don't remember getting taught empathy by anyone. Whatever. But some people, some people, they don't give a shit. All they think of is themselves. I get frustrated a lot by these kind of people. I know a lot of them, and people actually LIKE them. I don't know if people are just faking it or that they are plain stupid. Both are actually possible.

What do I do with these people? I'm stupidly naive, so I go along with the shit show everyone puts up around these people. I laugh at their jokes, chuckle when they say other people are stupid because they have different opinions, back them up when they do selfish shit etc etc. Yeah I'm stupid. Naive. Cowardly. Well what the fuck am I to do? Stand up to them? I did. Once. It ruined my fucking life.

The thing is with selfish people is that they have influence. They have people sucking their dicks all the fucking time. You go to their faces and say they're selfish, boom, dicksuckers pop out of out nowhere to fuck you up. I've been there, and I tried to do it again many times, but I only have one life. It's been destroyed since. I'm still picking up the pieces I think. I rebuilt my life from fucking pieces, and I'm not builder. I can't build for shit. Therefore, my life sucks.

Fuck I sound like a 15-year-old. 

Though I wish I am 15 right now. Maybe 16. 16. Definitely 16. My happiest and most genuine years of living was when I was 16 and 17. After that, just a whole clusterfuck of fuck-ups. Before that? Haha. Before that was a few years of extreme fuck-ups, and about 12 years of nothingness. I'm 23 now. I've only been alive for two fucking years. 

How many have you lived?

Hope

I came across a nice quote today. I'm gonna paraphrase it because who the fuck has the time to memorise every single word.

"If you always feel the need to travel, you probably want a new life"

Or something like that. It hit me. I LOVE travelling. Seeing new stuff. Fuck I love old cities. And Christmas Markets in Europe holy shit. They don't have those here in New Zealand because it's hot during Christmas so people just party and go wild and shit (white people smh).

Do I want a new life? Fuck yes. I hate this life I'm living now. Not much feels genuine, at least not anymore. Every year I tell myself, this is the beginning of my new life. I used to wonder who the fuck am I kidding, then, well, I stopped caring. Why? It's the hope. Hope is a strange thing.

I've had my paths crossed with hope many times. Oh yes we know each other quite well. The thing with hope is that it wants to help. It really does. You close your eyes and you see it. You see hope. Then you begin doing things differently because of the newfound hope. Its intentions are pure. However, we often misread it as promise. Oh I tell you hope and promise are two absolutely different beings. The fucked up thing about it is that they seems so similar. Now, don't blame hope, it doesn't know you're mistaking it for promise. Like I said, it just wants to help. Hope helps. Promise gives. One opens the door and the other is whatever the fuck is beyond that door.

Anyways, hope and I, we know each other. Believe it or not, hope knows when I mistake it for promise. Oh it knows, but it doesn't really stop me from believing so. Hope is like your grandma; all it wants to see is you being happy and smiling and not wallowing in sorrow or whatever, so sometimes it tells white lies. I'm fully aware that hope lies to me all the time, but I don't care. I suck on whatever happiness I can find, and hope provides me with the pseudo-nutrient that is happiness.

I want to start over. New page. Clean slate. I want promise. If a fucking genie came up to me asking for one wish, I would wish for this. A brand new start. To everything. Fuck money, fuck big houses, I just want to re-write what I am. Hope helps me; by creating an illusion of a world that I can re-write my history.

From this vantage point it sure seems that hope is a bad thing. It actually can be. Like all good things in this world, you simply twist one aspect, it can become maleficent, and no, the good thing doesn't know one of its aspects is twisted, or maybe it does and it doesn't give a fuck. How would I know?

So, what does hope do to you?

One Day

One day, I will let go of everything. I will let go of all the negativity, the hindrance, everything that is holding me back. One day, I will fulfill my destiny. I will be the person I should have always been.

The thing with demons is that they know to leave a seed behind. They can be flushed away, they can be eradicated, but they will always plant a seed for a newborn. This seed is deep inside one's soul, so deep it almost always gets away unnoticed, feeding off the flesh of its host. The demons watch from afar, waiting for their offspring to come to life, and when it does, they laugh and scream at your face, "YOU THINK YOU'RE SAFE? YOU THINK YOU'RE ALL BETTER NOW? WELL YOU'RE WRONG."

I'm a nice guy. Yeah I have some bad in me, but who doesn't? I snoop around people's phones every now and then for kicks, I tell inappropriate jokes, I swear and curse a lot, I take enjoyment from seeing other people suffer. We all do that sometimes (don't we?). My point is, despite all the bad things I do from time to time, I'm a nice person overall. I try to help people whenever I can, I donate to charity and homeless people, I...huh. Now that I think of it, I don't do enough good. Fuck.

Have we ever thought about that? What good have we actually done in our lives routinely? I'm not talking about that one time you helped an old lady cross the road because you were, like, there, or when you gave your food to a hobo who looked creepy and you just wanted to get rid of him. I'm talking about constantly doing good things in life. Have we ever thought about that? Do you think that somehow we all are contributing to all the evil in this world?

Edmund Burke once said, famously, that all that is necessary for evil to triumph is that good men do nothing. This is my all-time favourite quote. 

Anyways, fuck good things. You wanna do it, do it. You don't wanna, suit yourself. That Edmund Burke quote though.

One day, though, I'm pretty sure I'll explode. I feel evil. I say I'm a nice guy, but all I feel is evil. If I took the ever-popular life advice of "follow your heart", with God as my witness I swear to fucking fuck people would call me an animal. We are all animals by nature. To follow your heart means that you become your true, savage, primal self. You become the monkey, the ape, what have you. Don't follow your heart. You're gonna suffer, and that's a bare minimum, because worst case scenario is that you'll hurt other people, people who love you.

That being said, I've been an animal at times. I've tapped into my primal self. I've faced my demons. I've embraced them even. Holy shit it was awesome. It was fucking awesome I tell you. You don't feel anything other than pure lust for power and blood and all things beastly. You evoke the most powerful force known to animals; fearlessness. You just don't give a shit anymore. Oh fuck it was a great feeling to have.

For a moment. 

This transformation is ephemeral. It's temporary. It's like the effects of hard drugs, and like hard drugs, you lose the feeling after a dose. Then you want more because your stupid body is becoming more tolerant of it. Then you increase the dose. More, and more, and more, and more until before you know it, you're addicted. Hah. You're now an addict to an ethereal, fantastical, psychological drug. It's not like they can flush it out of your system at a hospital. No no no....you're fucked now.

You wanna know the most screwed up part? You can overdose. Yes, like any kind of drug, you can, and will, overdose if you're not careful. And yes, overdose can lead to death. You wanna be a rock star? Well at least you can die like one for free!

Anyways, fuck that. Where was I? Oh, yes. One day, I will be better. One day, I will recover. One day, I will outgrow this shit. One day, I will succeed in life.

One

Fucking

Day