The question is not whether there is life after death, but whether I’ll still get a Mc Donald’s burger when I get to the other side. The journey there could work up quite a hunger.
Hunger, that’s one thing that consumes my senses in their entirety. The lust for food makes me delirious, until I get some. That’s another thing I don’t get ’some’, just like that tabooed four letter word meaning intercourse - talk.
I find it hard to converse about normal everyday things with complete strangers. It’s intellectually insulting to constantly state the obvious in a bid to be more sociable. “Isn’t it hot today?” Well with the sun shining, it will be pretty damn hard to feel cold. Cold. They are the kind of people I get.
Public displays of affection make me cringe, which is why I don’t get some’, just like that four-letter word eaning defecation. I am surprised Oxford dictionary carries all its variation, just like that of the previously mentioned four-letter word. But it doesn’t bother me because ‘I don’t give a crap’.
Constipation it’s a wonderful thing. It’s a wonderful feeling to be able to concentrate on that one thing, hard enough and long enough till you finally get it.
Concentration for me, that’s a bit of a problem. Anterograde Amnesia, I forget what it means. I forget quite often. I jump from one topic to another quite often and I choose to believe otherwise quite often. I choose to believe in people and don’t mind getting disappointed again and again. I choose to believe and that is my hell. My hell is a place where I know there are no monochromatic hues; it’s a place where I know deep undercurrents of reality and phantasm exist.
Where I know all is not as gleeful as it seems to be, but I still choose to stay.
I choose to stay for I believe in my hell, I shall find my heaven
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