for no reason, the 'fuck syndrome's' going on at home, the manner's gone to the other place far away from my reach. on the other way, the 'work' - never stop. easy year, for 'not bad' money - buy milk daily for the young, put zwitsal in the small little package made by rotan. lucky strike! the drink - never stop, of course. point is - i always try to keep my responsibility

what wise that men do, negative or positive, dangerous or safe, bad or good, wrong or right, false or true - the whole real deal is the benefit for all. no wonder i'm holding my heat all the way, hiding my both hands in my pockets - locking all my slipy fingers with armor chain rings. i'll try to hang on for uncertain time, couldn't wait the time to let it all go so i could run to their place holding my machine guns, pointing it to their fucking forehead - blow their head off one by one til i reach the climax. what isn't wise if i point the gun at myself and bang ! what a fucking coward ! no can do

fuck my capability ! in fact i hate being spread in the free space, or other sarcastic communion where they could shout their mouth calling for nonsense. i don't believe that there are nobody thirst for fame, except me, i'm sick of it, i'm sick of watching people shouting, puke some dogshit from their mouth and piss the cement everywhere on the earth wall, sitting there not sleeping for years to reach nothing but fake fame which is no result shown for themself. wtf. lord have mercy - i just want peace and health - came up a question in my mind so sudden - who wants the earth to adore you as their god or their hero ? holy mother fucking god ! what a pathetic way to run life like that. why did i say that ? that's just pathetic. shit