Diabolus

Been sitting here half an hour unable to write one word. Blogs still seem like a mysterious puddle of putrid vocalized piss, diarrhea of the mouth. Can't understand how anyone would want to sit and hear about the mundane happenings of today, secret crushes, ruminations about the sadness of an unrequited heart-beacon. Does not anyone have their own lives to lead, or does this vicarious publication serve as the mind's sustenance to fuel feeling? It is a vehicle towards gossip, finding things about others, so deeply self-indulgent, ecstasy found through lives not our own. Though, I will admit, the swords has two edges--for understanding of this mysterious phenomenon does flirtatiously jam a hand down the front of its dripping wet mini-skirt just out of my mind's grasp.

I guess people maybe just want to understand something about each other. Well, if you want to know something about me, there is someone very special to me who I will see soon. They make me happy, I hope I can do the same.