So maybe he's not a white supremacist, after all.he seems to love as much as I do-if not more. I am nothing useful that I know of, but it seems so that I've been being followed. I'm aware of my cosmic insignificance, my societal displacement. It's been a year of strangeness, and I'm now more lost than found. It's almost like Insomniac (or whoever) can read my thoughts-or at the very least, my text messages. For that, I've always gotten a little chuckle, whenever I've randomly ended up watching something. I remember the shenanigans she went through to get him to sign a pair of boxing gloves for an auction she hosted, once, when I was younger. I stumbled upon an interview with none other than The Great Mike Tyson-who-if coincidences actually existed-coincidentally dated my mother oh-way-back-when. I have to step back at this point and admit to reading this shit to myself at this point, that.

Here lies everything I won't delete, but wouldn't dare to publish (as of yet), and therefore banish to the land and/or realm of impossibility, where everything entirely consists of unimaginable, unfathomable, inconceivable, never-ever-happened ( or will) unexistence. This is a cringeworthy read, i'm sure of it.

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