Here’s a load of larded, intensely saturated rant with gusts of hot, angry and nervous breath and exaggerated worded picture. You see the situation is pretty pathetic and very common. You’re born rich you can do whatever the fuck your impulse directs you to. You’re born poor you fucking drudge and squirm and squeeze under the surmounting circumstances that show up with a disgusting face to make your head reel under doubts and impossibilities and self-deprecation and a handbook on how completely justifiable it is to kill yourself and be called a coward instead of aiming for that shining badge of strength and perseverance. Naturally all are keen for it all to be over and bombarded and finished but some motherfuckers have either a very narcissistic outlook toward life in general or their own pathetic selves, the kind we call masochists, now they need to have to ought to wait and work things out in remotely favourable way if that’s possible and they either win it and don that fucking dandy badge of courage or lose it and try again till either that badge is received or the game is biologically over. Now there is a cowardice reason why “my life” “my world” “happened to me” is not used. This might be a general observation to pass somebody’s time or a very intimate, self-centred therapy speech that in turn fails anyway. What is grinding my soul[haz not] to dust is my inability to think unique and this taste of barrenness at the back of my tongue which is so scary because even after persevering all this while through clownish laughs and monstrous tears[none]  all I see before me is an unwanted struggle for just an add-on to reach something I really want and I have already started to feel empty and the ring of it makes slimy bubbles blow up and burst in a haunting sound inside me. string after string of this time is strangling shred after shred of my enthusiasm and it doesn’t help that I just felt so detached to my dog this morning when I left that city, he will live a full life and there is nothing he has to do about it or think things over or have desires and shit because he’s a fucking dog and this constant knot of frustration and anger in my throat that i can't spit out is making it hard for me to enjoy cooked meat which all makes me question, that if every one thinks of this one fact that they notice some time in their lives when they compare their pathetic trudging on pointlessly with the no-goal living of a pet dog[who is loved like mine] then why hasn’t any one been able to build up something about it that doesn’t need fueling[like ganja hits] well is it because everything needs fuelling? Well then I guess what I am trying to say is that I feel like I’m out of fuel and I’m not so brave or badass about it and this city is already at a level so high/low from me that my singularity is sort of vibrating in a blackhole haha but in the galactic sense it doesn’t matter one bit if you don’t have a unique idea in science doesn’t matter you’re richass or poorass a scientific idea is all that makes it worthwhile everything else, everything that I could find myself capable of doing is public entertainment and I fucking fart public every morning