I deleted all but 5 blogs. I feel weird and dumb about putting all my thoughts out for anyone. It's pseudo writing.
Virginia Woolf's A Room of One's Own. Read it.

fascination street

cough cough and have a beard and wear plain white t-shirts and cough once more and write furiously and furrow your brow and then i will love you and scratch your back and make you coffee and then i will plant a garden and send birthday cards. if you will only turn into me and borrow my cigarettes and wear flannel shirts and never be scared away by the things that i say.

Void of emotion is death if you think about it
Or so say the tortured

And they say you can feel a hollowness inside your arms
An empty dead weight
The manifestation of emptiness in the flesh
Accompanied by a small sharp pain in the lower back
And heaviness in your face
With the weight of seven layers of iron on your chest

Torture of a few provides freedom for the masses
For those in the habit of comparisons

Sometimes you say anything to anybody
But sometimes you don't say anything to anybody
You never know with these types if they are being honest or secretive

Do you think you are crazy?
I bet crazy people don't either.

The tortured probably need some help
But I don't know what kind.

Good concert tonight.
Good after concert conversation.
Good pizza I just enhaled.
Good people make this a good life.
Good night.

.
Be healer to this perplexity
that grows now into darkness of thought
while again sweet hope shining from the flames
beats back the pitiless pondering
of sorrow that eats my heart.
.
-Aeschylus in Agamemnon-

Life is hard.
The end.