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Old 09-15-2013, 03:10 PM   #4599
planktonnn OP
.also, i am a twat
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Joined: Jan 2008
Location: ...Fuckinemshite...
Oddometer: 4,182
444 words as news from within the circle of the BouffonÖ

Every now & again I pollute this Airhead based discourse to whine about my life. Some may consider this thread to be a long term whine about my life, with the odd Airhead based stuff thrown in. Iíd say that I was sitting at this table first, prattling away to myself on any subject I choose, and if others later join the table & donít like the conversation taking place they have a right to go sit somewhere fucking elseÖ

So, as this post falls into the category of the whine, Iíve got to tell you that Iíve hit a brick wall. Not literally so this time there are no broken bones or bike repair bills, but nonetheless Iíve hit the wall hard. I am totally without purpose. I cannot delude myself that there are worthwhile things to do, and nothing is available anyway. I cannot believe the lie which people tell themselves that there is some way forward. So & every each day I knock myself out with (prescribed) drugs, and wait for this continual rain of Sundays to wash me away.

Now donít think Iíve gone down easy. Itís not as if I was driven to this bound state with little cause. Donít think that Iíve not wracked my poor little broken brane for some form of solution. Iíve tried all sorts of shit, contacted every contact I ever had, using every modulation of any possible approach thru/ough which to bring this dripping dissolution to an end. Rest assured Iíve twanged every string within the compass of my reach, but none have rung out anything even resembling a tone of success. Brick walls. Withered over-wooded paths that peter out to impassable thickets of blockage. Stuck here in an endless Pinter pause with no dialogue either side Ė A nothing made null.

I could lie to myself about there being a way forward, be it simple & practical like becoming a bin man, or that I might find an undemanding MILFionaress. One of you could sponsor me or at least take me on as a tax write off. There could be endless variations of sensible and/or preposterous yet always faithless hopes of which I could persuade myself, but when it comes to considering such matters I can be nothing but my own Bouffon.

I donít have to say any of this and you donít have to read it. I donít require comment on any of this and I donít have to listen to any comment that is made. This circumstance is just here, and it alone fills the void left by total lack of purpose. There is no way to effect my situationÖ
...using the wrong spanner since 1964... ...Electronically begging for a rebuild via
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