Dear Visitor

this has nothing to do with anything but my neigbour; the guy i don't know and don't care for was violently robbed today, well his house was, invaded by drug addled thieves with a crowbar and guns at midday while my vigilante was roaming on his bike oblivious up and down the street. Now i can't stop thinking about the two cats they stole, cause I watched them every now and then sunbathing on their balcony, the cats not the neighbour and now its different. And I can't stop thinking about the cats.

I know this is not how you are supposed to blog but i can't define trends as easily as others so this fits in with me. I'm in a really weird place emotionally. My concentration is like a crack in a dam wall and it scares to think what might pour out. I hate myself. I hate the book I'm writing The only friend i have, he says this is normal.

I won't beg to blog here with opinion. God i am so tired of humans with opinions and i do realise that this is merely my opinion but as i mentioned before; I hate myself.

In between writing and shit, let's make this a diary of a guy with emotional problems. This is merely the extension of the conversation i am having in my head, al day long.

And those poor fucking cats. And meanwhile one of mine has just pissed on one of my shirts. Endearing. All four look entirely innocent. They're fucking with me.

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