I'd Rather Just Ignore Things, Actually.

I've just gone through the remaining...God, 3 other blogs? Three, what a clusterfuck. And yet I complain about trash being left out in front of Devilhouse, when I have 3 other blogs full of crap to sort through and delete.

oh but I don't write well enough is actually a bit too old of an excuse for me. I ain't Joseph Conrad and Bane's dead so he ain't writing anymore either. And everyone else whose writing style I either purposely or not mimicked or perceived as "the right way to express yourself" can honestly go fuck themselves.

Most were just half-chawed through posts, anyway. One was some start of a rant at I guess a bus driver, back when I was working county in Riverside. I didn't finish it and don't remember what the fuck happened. I can recall sitting there with shitty posture in the freezing AC'd bus, watching what...whatever was happening and being pissed off at someone, but no recollection at what actually had happened. Really useful. Oh the angst of the unintentional proletariat.

But tons of crap like that, all of it rambly (which I should be used to by now) but all also in a creepy...hurry.

Hurry. A rush. Like I was trying to make my point before it escaped me and was able to express itself fully. It wanted air so I threw it out the window.

The most rational thing to do, right.