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October 3, 2006
My writing becomes irritating when I get into metaphorical crap or soulful writing. Shit happens. It is what it is. There's no fork in the fucking road and what kills you fucking kills you. Here I fall into a zone where I search the depths for light to be shed. I wonder the kind of power a hopeless phase the mind must go through to try convincing itself there's a brighter outlook to the shit. And look here, nothing improves. So piss off that chicken soup for the soul. I'll kill the bastard who doesn't fucking sweat the small stuff.