why is everything whited out

test

test

test

fucking test, man.

writing: good for the soul

I was told often, about the course of this past year, that the lack of writing anything was merely Senioritis. Inflammation of the senior. I'd think that, by now, the swelling has gone down at least a little bit. I haven't written a goddamn thing in far too long, and in a few years, I'm expected to make a profession out of doing this sort of thing. Last thing I wrote of my own free will was several months ago, and it was but a lousy fiction piece.


(nobody cares)


I don't have thoughts, really, anymore. Few things that cross my mind are ever original, or thought-provoking. That which is philosophical often becomes a Who's the Biggest Twat? contest. That which is even remotely interesting I've observed requires too much context. It is too personal to plaster here for anyone to see here. I don't have observations, really, anymore. There are no stories to be told, there is little deep down satisfying fun to be had, either, so I find myself a late night hot mess, scrambling for something to write about. It's an exercise. It's good for the mind, the soul, and that which taps away at my Dell's keyboard.


mind 


soul


I'll do my best to update this thing as often as my sixth grade's xanga site... if anyone cares to read any of this.