In fact, sir, you have an emotional capacity of a teaspoon. I pity you for feeling so little.

Fools. How they waste their lives being social whores, narrow-minded people, and indulging in insufferable child talk. I pray god curse you into the bloody cave that you have to crawl out of there barely alive and have the demons pulling your legs down. Then you would know what it is like, to be in the sunlight, to have the rays blind your eyes, the feeling of being pulled out of the sea, shiny and brand new. Then you would know how to feel; despair as if you are about to die, happiness as if you would live forever. You would care about the blind man playing his instrument in the streets.

(the passages above stays.)

Anyway, let us revert to happy topics. I doubt fools can understand English. Faye told me that if they care more than you do, then they are not worth it. It is even more pathetic that they keep their anonymity while trying to express their shallow views. (Stays.)

(Stays.) Why, are you so scared of revealing yourself? Dotard. I don’t give a rat’s ass about you. (in case of future insults)

(New phrases added whoah!) *If this was any other person who isn't ahem ahem, I wouldn't have forgiven them. Now this takes a lot of my pride but I'm sorry for saying ' I don't give a rat's ass about you.' I do. But if you were say, someone I didn't care about, then I meant all of those horrible things I have typed. So I'm sorry I will buy you a lot of candles and chocolates when you get back. *shuffles feet* But I'm at the most suckiest stage of my life, and furthermore I'm having PMS, that's got to count for something.*

I finally finished Blade of Fortriu during the stay at my grandmother’s. Faolan will come back with a new love, don’t worry. So I have borrowed three books from the library, and yesterday I bought two more. That just means I have ten books to read (plus the millions of books I‘ve bought sometime ago and have not yet read.) So I will care myself with words from Stephen Fry, Salman Rushdie, Victor Hugo, Will Self, etc, for the long days to come. My art will dwindle and die, until I’ve finished them all. I’m in the midst of painting two pieces but I cannot get them done. I’ve been putting layers and layers of paint on one after another and now my supplies are exhausted. I will go back to drawing when I feel like it.

Now I am thinking I should go back to the old days of writing.

So in the last 3 days I have:

-Said my farewell to Nettie.
-Rekindled a lost friendship.
-Proposed my love to huge bookstores.

This post is very dry. Sigh.

Labels: books, i'm sorry i can't be fucked, shallow shits