It brings a lump to my throat. Like the first time a drunken asshole threatens you in the street. At first you feel hurt, offended, but then you begin to feel kinda righteous and infinately amused at the emotion and limited thinking behind it. this has what bearing on my existence?
But instead of just dismissing this muppet out of hand, like you would do with pretty much any drunken asshole, let's give voice to his greviences, pull him out of the obscurity of the commenting system, and let him have a voice amongst a handful of people. He obviously desperately needs the attension.
sort your pages out you long haired greasy cunt - they are the most unnavigatable slithers of dog rape currently fucking up the integrity of the cause for Freedom Of Speech. & stop polluting Cardiff with your practice run at a mothballed suicide. fucking junkie retard. hurry up & do it. for your mum's sake. Love & a handful of nails for your plywood coffin box, The World.
juuuuunkie..... juuuuunkie..... Hmm, a taste for psychoactive substances does not make one a junkie. What is a junkie? Webster's defines a junkie as: a narcotics peddler or addict. Now, I've never delt drugs, let alone peddled narcotics. I am an addict though. I dare say to the nictoine in the cigarettes I smoke. I know it's a filthy habit but I kinda like it. Of course, it could be argued that we're all junkies, addicted to television media, pop culture and consumer products. I do have quite an unhealthy obsession with William Burroughs though, who was a junkie, and wrote about junk a whole lot, and I am reading one of his books at the moment, but it's 'queer' not 'junkie', and to be honest though I'm kinda bored of him now. Have been for the past couple of years. I mean, he's still a facinating and fucked up man who wrote facinating and fucked up things and had some very interesting ideas and philosophies but you gotta move on, you know? There's a whole world full of interesting and fucked up literature just waiting to be read.
As for the un-nagivational part... Dude, it's a blog. It's kinda in standard blog format, you know, with the posts going down one side in chronological order and the links to stuff on the otherside. To be honest, part of the reason I started a blog was so I wouldn't have to worry much about shit like that, you know, html, just occassionally fiddle with CSS. I guess it could do with sorting out though. If you've got the skills your quite welcome to take a crack at it. Of course, we both know you don't have the skills. Fuck, I'm amazed you could figure out how to turn the PC on.
What else was there? Blah Blah Blah... Ooh! My favourite part!
Now this is a good line! This was kinda the clincher for me, it really won my heart. I gotta say though, suicide is boring. I was never really into the manics, although I do appreciate The Holy Bible. Please don't mistake some of the poetry on here as my current mental state, alot of it is a good couple of years old. I'll admit I went through my fair share of teenage angst but again, you gotta move on, you know? I get by with my regular angst just fine now.
It took me a little while to figure out who this comment was from. I mean, is it just random vindictiveness from the ether, a common occurence, or is it from someone I actually know? Well, the references to cardiff kinda killed the random idea, and there's only one person who hates me enough to write such things....
but, she's not that handy with a turn of phrase, and she hates the c word, so that means it must be Mark. Now, there's a whole story about Mark that may or may not be interesting to tell, and may or may not result in more agrevation for me, and may or may not be worth it, so I'm gonna have to think about the telling some. Needless to say though that I won't be voicing any more of his little postcards of hate... Unless they adequately amuse me.
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