Regicidal Maniac

Many of you aren’t accustomed to helplessness and insanity, but here I am turning the world psychotic, and I’m loving each minute of it, if I really am.

I am nihilistic; I believe and believe in nothing. So I have approached with much appropriate and inappropriate skepticism and doubt and hygienic sarcasm.

I’ve been ticking off and tocking off as a literary terrorist, more presumably as an anarchical writer but in whichever address you may address me with, I write about liberalism and nonsense with this mind as labyrinth as mine.

I don’t think there’re absolutes but from what I’ve seen in life, there is no master plan to it, no divine order, nothing, just a chaotic wad of dirt.

We did such a great job alternating and evolving and adapting our environment towards our needs and wants that we’re all suffering for it behind a work desk, an office cubicle, a prison cell, an asylum; in a suit or a straightjacket, we’re suffering one way or another.

Work stress and tension creates mass murderers, insufficient exposure to the modern world creates psychotic bastards, so it’s all the same.

I see people all day and all I see is a bunch of sheep wandering aimlessly for the same old bullshit: love, money, material possession, intrinsic value, some sort of meaning to this screwed up porno-verse of insane bastards.

Is that all that matters?

Is utilising election and dictation and the amount of freedoms we can have (which we actually do have but oh, we created laws and morality to imprison ourselves) by a single mortal prophet, the superhero, the outspoken overachiever who wants to lead people to a better tomorrow as our shepherd really what we need?

How many more world leaders and world fuck ups must we go through before we actually realise we have to start living for ourselves?

So many questions, so much bullshit.

So much of a blog to share the gory details of my adolescence.