the writer
a writer, eh? not really. but why? because i'm a hopeless romantic. taunt me. laugh like the hyena. do the hokey-pokey. pounce on me. tell me how hopeless i am... real hopeless. go ahead. that's fine with me...
or share some pity and feel my pain. isn't that him, the dying martyr? oh, the poor chap. look at his frail limbs and fragile soul. but no, no. you'd never say that.
because i'm just a freakin' writer who no one cares about.. do tell me if i'm wrong, huh. not that i care.

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did you hear me?

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speak up...



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7.26.2005

physical fitness??

dark eyebags. failing eyesight. zits. inherent rheumatized hands. asthma. flu. anemia. insomnia. recently, a pair of battered legs, fractured left foot inclusive. and of course, frail stature.

take at least three at a time. mix according to your liking, and voila! you have predicted my health status for the day.

please, give me a cure. i've tried stresstabs, heat pads, bandages, nebulizers, inhalers, daily supplements and a pair of glasses. any other ideas?

not quite effective as of the moment. and suddenly, it rains! while i walk along the sidewalks. just great. to start with, i never brought an umbrella. i'm freezing.

hey, aren't you surprised i'm not dead yet? no? seriously? or, won't you even consider it?

think again. (",)

the silent spoke up on 19:35

_______

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a psychotic's online dictionary


DEAR READER,

This blog site is no more used by the writer.

Please proceed to his NEW SITE if you're still interested at what's happening to him.

However, if you persist...

click on this icon.

THANKS. If you want to dig deeper into his past... Click here.



gee... thanks guys...
(gee, thanks guys...)