The Nonsensical Journal

Sounds about right…

All the hail return of the… peasant… Kings are annoying at any rate with all the “off with his head” business, especially with a bisexual phrase swinging both ways when rebellion arises… To be fair though, as a king I would legalize all drugs keeping the populace too sedated to bother with mutinies and all those freedom and rights myths…

Ego is a strange thing; I am sure a lot of you egocentric pricks are reading this and are still stuck on the fact that someone can refer to himself as a peasant… What can I say? My ambitions are low… I lie… I don’t have any ambition at all… I lost it around the same time I lost my childhood innocence with the discovery of drugs, alcohol, and molestation…

Did you ever really look at the word molestation; it’s a disturbing innuendo within itself, “Mole Station”… A station for moles… That’s a lewd innuendo if I ever saw one, which I never did… I always just hear of them, but if you ever do actually see an innuendo walk down the street, please take a picture and tag me in it…

Most people have dreams of colossal grandeur, they envision their name transcending generations and legacies to come; if I ever decide to do that I would very much like “The Infamous” to supersede my name… Living forever in infamy sounds much cooler than living in… err… “Famy”…

See… now people with egos would quickly rush to their thesaurus, dictionaries… Sorry, I meant Google… and search for the proper word. Their ego would not allow such bullshit (including typing bullshit) mostly because their ego has them believing they are respected writers… I am in no denial about being respected or being a writer… hence, “Famy”…

What? I’m a disrespected failed writer…

Are you still hailing my return? Good, I never said stop… Coincidently this is what a necrophiliac’s date would never say either…

I know this all might seem random to the trained and untrained eye, but I assure you my thoughts are not my own. My thoughts are their own entity governed by their own… thoughts… I’m simply the messenger, and you never shoot the messenger, you just shove them down strategically placed endless wells while yelling “This is Sparta!” after you distract the messengers with a long winded speech so they can tantalizingly shuffle backwards unsuspectingly into the huge ass well… (Awesome movie though)

How does one train an eye?… What sort of tricks can a trained eye do?…

So don’t shoot the messenger (me)… Don’t yell Sparta either (mostly because it doesn’t exist and you will end up looking daft)…

Problem with my thoughts is that I find it difficult to start and to stop, leaving me in a state of constant whatever it is that comes in-between starting and stopping… it’s not running, I’m not that active… perhaps walking with occasional stops for spliff breaks… more of a stroll… we can always just cruise in the car… as long as I’m not driving though…

Fuck it… I’m staying in…

It’s not that I’m lazy; I just can’t be bothered with much… I just want to remain in a state of “chill” with as little effort exerted to maintain my current state… Ambition is a great thing to not have, otherwise I would be like one of you idiots working hard to be this thing called “successful” so you can have a fancier gravestone than mine… It’s fine really, you can dump my body in the trash can for all I care, I’ll be done using it…

Sometimes I can’t be bothered so much so that I just figure, meh, might as well just end it now… but the razors are just so far away, and I still have to write a goodbye note, and ugh… too much effort… I’ll just wait and let my vices work their slow magic…

I like saying the word ‘vice’… I always imagine vices to look like Don Johnson in a white suit for some odd reason…

There you have it kids, Don Johnson is ruining your life… It’s difficult to let go of our Don Johnsons which we have become addicted to, and we all have different Don Johnsons… Some find their Don Johnsons inside a bottle of liquor; others find them inside a syringe of smack and HIV…

I know that perhaps all this might seem babblings of a mind suffering second hand decay from first hand and second hand inhaling of Don Johnsons… You have to admit though it makes more sense than the current state of politics and politicians…

*Insert paragraph dedicated to a political rant that inspires the youth to seize control of their destiny… or some shit like that… *

Read that again kids; now go out and revolt… or be revolting… or both…