by blood I walk, how in the hell is anyone supposed to write an honest thought with this shit, what is this? a diluted sense of significance that dribbles into some obscure meaningless visual display. What do you end up being here for? a few likes a few
by blood I walk, how in the hell is anyone supposed to write an honest thought with this shit, what is this? a diluted sense of significance that dribbles into some obscure meaningless visual display. What do you end up being here for? a few likes a few stories
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Autoplay OFF  •  10 months ago

by blood I walk, how in the hell is anyone supposed to write an honest thought with this shit, what is this? a diluted sense of significance that dribbles into some obscure meaningless visual display. What do you end up being here for? a few likes a few

comments, are you seriously interested in becoming better writers? What is a writer, but one filled with truth and passion that does not choose to sculpt or paint or make music, so this is your medium and what a hindrance to personal development. Do not read for the sake of making your own, do not look for that sake either but instead live, with a fire inside beneath and above you. To look forward to your sufferings might they offer some actual sense of reality as opposed to this very pleasing seen. Truth is far removed from these forms. but nature and our reliance on it mutilation just in order to get off with such a weak display. the trains the rove into town and the vessels that reach shore with your goods to play. Consumer entertained. Plan A, for the powers that be; but what is there to do. There is a chance now to leave. LEAVE NOW. Taxes and your subscription to an amount of bullshit toxic at current levels. writers synonymous with alcohol and coffee shops. Phonies synonymous with writing.trying to get off appearances. As if your experiences are valid. But GOD they truly are. IF only we were quite present for them and lived thoroughly by them as if the slightest truth couldn't pass us by and be made into only a poem for likes and comments but became our marrow and flesh. And these writings might just become the most insignificant of us as opposed to our living bodies and our real beings. And in our lives some sort of evolution, but I stretch the word. Some sort of real satisfaction might be within our collective reach. but I only an ignorant cynic has come to shit upon a parade to common in too many walks of human existence. and if I could live as natural as I dream maybe these words would never be shared, for a real satisfaction with the means of my life, how my food is obtained and my shelter and the deeds of a day valid and valuable and congruent with the truths of reality and of nature and not of human pettiness.

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