It was my birthday last week and I could not stop celebrating. To put an end to the occasion, I just have these few remarks:
On turning 17 again.
I promise to obsess ever diligently, more than before if possible. I promise to veer closer to the edge of inanity. I will keep pouring over the image of man, many of them with visibly large dicks, but its not important. I want to be demented. I promise awkwardness and increasing instability if ever I happen to cross some slick possessor in the flesh. Behold! Composure dashed like pottery on marble steps. Rebuilding, refashioning. Doing it again. Cliche as a preordained condition for services rendered. Please God mold thy servant. This insipid filth I've been peddling, may I peddle it further? and may it one day burn super brilliantly in hell.
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