Don't tell anyone anything, if not you'll miss everyone.

I'm sick of it,sick of it all,sick of pretending that I'm a giddy, facetious, fucked-up slag. I want out. I want to be with people I actually... I don't know what I want. Walls are the publishers of the poor. You can never be free until you've lost everything. I have. Rock-bottom. So let me.

Is there another way to say Everything is shit except you, love without sounding repetitive. Oh nevermind, its not like you come here expecting to see anything but roundabout whining and constant distress over non-events. I had an awful nightmare the previous night, the kind that leaves you brooding about it the whole day. I don't care to repeat it mostly because I think the only reason I had that dream was because I think about It too much. And most of the people I talk to are probably sick to death over It. Common opinion is I Worry Too Much, its only 3 subjects after all.

"Most of my adult life so far has been me standing on seamless paper for a raft of bucks per hour, wearing clothes and shoes, my hair done and some famous fashion photographer telling me how to feel.

Him yelling, Give me lust, baby.

Flash.

Give me malice.

Flash.

Give me detached existentialist ennui.

Flash.

Give me rampant intellectualism as a coping mechanism.

Flash."