Update

Put up some old writing because I felt like it.

My mind

When I look around my room I feel as if I am looking into my mind. My computer desk is full of empty boxes and other garbage that I should throw out but can’t bring myself too. Computer games and other treasures are intertwined with garbage so that if I actually started to thrown anything out, I would find something worth finding, and put the garbage back with the jewel now on top. Useful hardware is behind these piles, including my scanner and one of my speakers. The edge of my desk is littered with sticky notes containing ideas that I was about to dispose of, but because of the nature of sticky notes, left them there for later. I have 3 screw drivers on my desk because one is too small, one is broken, and at one point the other had disappeared behind my ever growing piles that represent a genetic problem that will plague me my whole life. For me to be able to express my ideas in writing I have to sort through the junk to find the good stuff. I will rarely dispose of anything, but I will push it off to the side and create working space around it. Then maybe others will be able to see and judge my ideas, and sanity.

Starting a War

No one likes you. You know it. There is nothing you can do about it. You just have to accept it and try to find a dark corner to live out your miserable life in. Unless you find a group of people who are also loathed and come together to solve all your problems. Nothing brushes problems under the sofa like a nice long war. Try it, there is no doubt that it may make your problems go away temporarily. Its not like the people that die like you. Nobody likes you, not now, not later, not ever. The only hope you have is to distract them from you. War is a great distraction, whether it be grief or fear, no one can ignore a big long war. As long as you a megalomaniac, or insurmountably greedy, then war is the answer for you. All you need to do is follow the methods that have started countless wars.
If inciting a war is in your future, then you must have a group of associates that share your dream. They must be as despicable as you. You must hate them as much as they hate you. They must be as greedy and self centered as you. Only your shared dream of war and chaos can bring you together. If Samuel Adams, John Hancock, and Paul Revere had not all wanted trade without taxation. If they had not all wanted war wholeheartedly, then the American Revolution would never have taken place. No other reason would bring these smugglers together to bring Briton’s colonists into civil war. You must find people whose greed is on par, or even greater than that of these men.
You need an argument to give your war some reason, no matter what it is. It could be a lie, a skewed truth, or even a real problem that is plaguing the people. It doesn’t matter. The argument must be one that the mob will be receptive to. This part can be difficult, or it can be simple. It depends on the aura of the people. If they are disgruntled or scared, then it becomes easier to convince them. If they are mostly content, you must change that. Skew an action of the target for war. Turn one death into a massacre. Turn one isolated event into a repeating pattern. If nothing is available to skew, or you are to lazy to look. Then coming up with a complete lie is always viable.
Just because most wars have been started by megalomaniac dictators doesn’t mean that your average person can’t start a war. Although being incredibly rich and insane is required. Once your war is under way you could even become dictator. Then you could start your next war with very little trouble. You could keep starting wars until there is no one left to fight. Which means only you are left alive. All your problems would then be solved.

Riddle

Long line that sprouts off,
Filled fat with bursting bites;
Knowledge flows into corners of chaos.
Gawkers gather, gabbing in groups.
The Sweating swaggarts reek of rot.
They traverse terrain in closed caskets.
Never near the transcendent treasure
That lies submerged, beneath the stream.

Daydreaming at midnight

Tired.
Mind drifting.
Thoughts of nothing.
Almost like dreaming but not nearly as interesting.
No adventure, no amazing place that was always there but never noticed.
One thought lingers as the minuets roll bye.
Time passes like nothing.
Five, ten, thirty.
Just sitting.
Drifting.

Communicable diseases

Communicable diseases are ravaging the globe. They claim about 6 million lives a year, 1/3 of all deaths. Diseases such as AIDS, tuberculosis, and malaria ravage poor countries. This is a result of lack of and medicine, doctors, and education. These countries do not have the resources available to help prevent preventable diseases. To make the world fairer, anyone who gets a communicable disease should die.
If you can’t fend off a disease with your own immune system, then you are weak and unfit to live. Your body should be able to fight off all invading germs, and prevent you from ever getting symptoms. If you do get symptoms, then obviously your body is weak, and you were going to die anyway. Getting a communicable disease is your body telling you that it can no longer function in society, and it must be put out of its misery.
Communicable diseases kill poor children. Do you think you’re better than poor children just because you have money? If so then you deserve to die of pride. If not then you should be willing to suffer the same consequence as them for having a communicable disease, death. It is only fair that everyone who gets a communicable disease should either all die or all live. As long as 1 person could possibly die of a communicable disease, then all people with communicable diseases must die.
If you live with a communicable disease you are a murderer, because you will transmit the disease, and then the people who get it from you will all die. Could you live with that on your conscience? I you can than you are amoral and need to die. If you get a communicable disease it is your responsibility to kill yourself immediately. Depending on the disease, you have to travel deep into the woods first, only if your dead carcass would be contagious.
If everyone who got a communicable disease was killed immediately not only would it make life a lot more fair, but it would also prevent the spread of communicable diseases. No longer would huddled masses of people huddle together and create a breeding ground for germs. In its place would be a smaller mass of healthy people flushing their system with tears for their inferior, dead friends and relatives.

As

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FLY like the it that went as. I will like tell you when it as. Look at the flying float bubble that is flying like something that can but as: The I think is bad. I think you’re a jerk. Shut up! @$$ :) :) :) :) :) :( :) :) :) :) :) :) :) AS= like the the that is the as. :”>?”<“.’..’;’,’;,’,’;,’/.;,.’;,’;, lol lol lol lol lol like like the as man the as man. Iwentdowntotheriverandspatinthepoolandtheycameandarrestedmemanthatsuckedihatelifeespeciallyjailjailsucksassfuckyouassholeowhoamikiddingiloveyoumanletsneverfightagain !WOW CRAZY LIKE CRAZYCANDY LOLIPOP as. The as is bad: as is best ever. as the as like like the like as when the as loves the think as think as like think like as think as gleaming glowering foreboding happy shiny cuddly dank dark putrid shiny lovable disgusting as. The as like think I went to it then thing shined in shiny dark hole of despair and bliss. When the as is like. I think. As. As think like deep. It’s like I like know like how to like think now, or like something. OMG it’s like so like cool as; When I punch you in the face do you bleed? ¿um like I think maybe I might like could bleed/ouch. Shut up. Your existence is an example as to why nothing should exist. ¿Like I like almost like as understand like the as… as… like as?
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Anger cleanses the as.

Cold

Cold. Very cold. Very, very cold. Colder than cold. Even colder than that. Cold! If it were any colder I would kill myself out of principle. If nature is going to be such a jerk, then I have no interest in living. Especially without snow. Cold without snow is torture. Maybe not so much torture as it is inconvenience. It is inconvenient torture. Nothing could be so cold and annoying. And cold. Did I mention that it is cold? My hands ache. My toes burn. Maybe I’m dying. That would be sweet. My foot just fell of. It seems to be solid ice.
I am vomiting from my eyes with rage. Rage of fire. Fiery rage. Fiery rage of fury. There is no right for existence to be this cold. Unless there is 8 feet of snow. It can only be cold when it snows. School must always close for snow, whether it snows or not. That this is not occurring is an insult to existence. Cold spits on existence and laughs in its face. Ha, Ha. It spits on me. It spits in my face. Every hair on my body is now a razor sharp toothpick of death. Were I to move I would be cut 100,000,000,000 times. I am scared. The blood would then flow out about one inch. It would then freeze solid and cut off my circulation.
My vomit has frozen. My eyes have become rocks of pelting pain. I must tear them out. Ouch. That hurt. Luckily the gaping holes I left there have frozen to prevent massive blood loss. I would be quivering if I could move. But I cannot. It was difficult to tear out my eyes without moving, but with a little madness and a rabid polar bear to help me it was simple. However, my skull seems to have been torn open. And my right arm eaten. That wasn’t part of the deal. Rabid polar bears are jerks. Especially Steve. Now I’m glad I had sex with his wife. Maybe that’s why he carved all those racial slurs on my back.
Death is not as fun as I thought it would be. Lying here, mutilated by cold and Steve, the green grass, sunny sky and llamas taunting me. Covered in feces. Not just llama feces either. Steve stuffed fecal matter up my nose. Jokes on him, I can no longer breath. That might be a problem. Apparently breathing is important for some reason. Maybe that’s why I have this painful feeling in my chest. You know the feeling you get when someone stabs you in the chest repeatedly with the Empire State Building. That’s how I feel. This is almost as bad as when the llama bit my frozen penis off. It was more embarrassing then painful.
The internal warmth of my body is gone. The permeating warmth that radiates from the bladder is gone. Which make sense since my bladder is a solid block of ice. My entire body is a solid block of ice. Technically its two blocks. A llama stepped on me; its hoof cracked right through my frozen ribcage and split my body right below my nipples. What do I need nipples for? At least the llama then tripped and broke its spine. Wait, I might be dead now. Crossing my imaginary fingers since the real ones were eaten, by me. Maybe. No. Yes. I’m dead. Wow. Being dead is much like being alive except I can’t do anything. Like think. Or write an essay. Or say this exact sentence at this moment. Nope. Can’t do that.