  There are times, when you find yourself in a state of self-drool. Consiousness, not really batting an eye, but a tragic trance lulls over. Noiseless, ceaseless threads of thought running concurrently without any remarkable purpose, everything pointing a finger towards an impending doom. Can you classify any of the instincts which drive us ? The red glow of an LED holds you transfixed. Looking, staring ahead you worm your eye over the thin lesser visible threads of faint glowing red and you know how fucked up you are.
How fucked up life is ? Don't you dismiss this as a frustated rant. No, never, what the fuck is there to be frustated against. Nothing is worth any sort of importance, especially the things which we specifically think are important. I bought a prized knife yesterday to carass the inner thighs of a pretty girl. A knife can serve so many fucking purposes. If only a good percentage of humans could be half as resourceful. FUCK REDEMPTION. If you can't make any sense out of this you are foolish. 
