is this fiction or nonsense... an empty life is like a broken Bottle... we all end in the DUMP... Sorrow has eviscerated my soul... at least for NOW...
but how long is now for...
a Life in small pieces.. scratchings in the armpit of self-examined auto anthropology, while receiving an electrical stimulation of the brain, and reposed in various states of juxtaposed transcendence.. a very Sincere Bullshit; even I believe it!... A Dairy, no. A Diary of self-induced super-sanity:
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