I cant seem to stop.Story of my life.
However whatever I do put out here, happens to be liked atleast for a nanosecond of what is unfortunately my existense. Or may be I'm what I think is wrong with the world, which in my opinion is basically a manifestation of the eternal infernal desire of being heard out. Sadistically speaking it's a pleasure to blush uncomfortably.
I don't know, among other things, how to be consistent, hence most of my fears.Which other than about creepy crawlable things are about my abilities or the more or less acknowlegded yet repeatedly forgotten lack of them. Whatever becomes of such beings is a classic case of agnosticism gone wrong. But my most avowed spiritual ties happen to find voice with Ayn Rand's works, that I end up feeling like Peter Keatings of the world is another story altogether. And all that without the slightest hope of topping any class. Not feeling like Tooheys happens to be a mere consequence of my eloquent misanthropism which is the single most frequent thing that is consistent besides numbness in my system.
The idea of going on forever is so scary that I could never enjoy the Celine Dion song about 'a heart' that promised so. Hence with no hopes whatever from the future, I promise to promise nothing. However since I'm not sure whether all or atleast some demented ones like my-not-so-mighty self do feel listlessness more often than air. I hope there'd be an underlying understanding of the same.
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