i am not alive... my existance is baseless and futile... what meaning is there in this non-existance known as my life?... i am a non-entity of sorts... my existance is not acknowledged by others in any way deemed significant and worthy of the praise and comments of all the bastard genius around me... i have no zest... i do not feel the urge to create... i cannot sketch... i cannot play guitar... i cannot write... i am in pain... i have no music in my soul or in my room... i am no alchemist... i am no sorceror nor am i a fool... i cannot control what is truthfully mine, yet i handle all the waste that is my life like mana from the heavens... i am my own and nobody elses, yet i conform to twisted, distorted norms set upon us by the bastard leaders of controlled-order.... why bitch?... why moan?... because i can... i exist but do not live... i exist... i exist... i am not alive...
in a vain attempt to find out my inner self i took a quick trip to utopia for the insecure and found out that i am most like one of the most truest people to grace my "uni-directional stuffer of nonsensical information down my gullet" (my TV)...
I AM CHANDLER BING!
Could you be any more like Chandler Bing? You
are
sarcastic and scared of commitment!
Could you be any more like Chandler Bing? You
are
sarcastic and scared of commitment!
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