:: 2007 27 February :: 1.14 am
:: Mood: huh?

Dedicated to: mute.louder.mute.
it is odd because i cannot write like i used to. i can no longer be stupidly poetic. nor rant. nor contemplate. nor drop bombs of wisdom.

like i used to.

maybe it is because i have become self conscious on here because it is my resurrection and i feel like it has to be just as good, or even better (!), than what it was before.

well i cannot gaurantee anything. the best i can say is:

merry christmas to all. and to all a good night.

i really want to write a book. an autobiography. i even know what i would title it. the question is. when would i write it? and, who would actually read it? and, why? and, would it be a waste of time to write? and, a waste of time for you to read?

i don't think my life is one of great tradgedy nor lust nor hope nor wisdom, but i just think i have a lot of secrets and if i don't unveil them sometime, then what wil happen to my brain and heart and feelings? i don't want to combust, you know?

we'll see.

by the way, LHB, i think you're the only one who reads this because you're the only one i notified.

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