Post a random entry from your journal/diary.

>>9502463
>Today OP was a faggot. Again.

that's a hateful image op.

>>9502463
December 13, 2016
Diary:

Woke up. Holy shit, that bullet was meant for me.

Tell me a day, a month and a year.
If I have written anything that day, I will post it.

>>9502524
june 16 2015

>Gardening. No hope for the future.

>>9502463
Eat too much BigRed for a couple days till you have open wounds on your tongue.
Eating food is painful enough.
Drink whiskey and keep it at the tip of your tongue for as long as you can deal with the burning.
Swallowing the substance will feel pleasurably releiveing that way compared to keeping it in your mouth any longer.

>>9502463
I'll drink until I like my new haircut.

>>9502463
Die psychedelischen Pilze entschlacken das Gehirn von Zeit zu Zeit.

>>9502463
3/20/2017
Today a woman looked like she keeled over in the store today. By the looks of things she was probably in her 90s. Her face went all grey, eyes vacant, and she was gasping for air like a goldfish. They had to call an ambulance and the EMTs, and everything, bring in a stretcher and carry her out. Imagine that, the last thing you see in you pathetic life before oblivion is the fucking grocery store. Proof that God is either not real, or indifferent to our suffering.
I don’t imagine I will stay much longer. I calculated that after taxes and union dues, I only make $40 a day, and after food and gas, probably only about $30 goes into my account. This kind of money isn’t even worth my time, let alone my effort. And lo, what effort! Sometimes I feel so empty at work that my thoughts turn violent. Today while serving a customer, I looked at the dividers for the conveyer belt and wondered if it could be used to bludgeon someone to death. Terrible, but I think it is important to confront and vent these thoughts.
Each day is much like another just as each minute is similar to the last. It’s all the same. Withered old folks who shuffle like the undead, babies that scream as if they’re being dissected, bitter old women who do anything to avoid their families. Endless. The music is always on loop. Stay only enough and you find that your pace matches the tempo of the songs. Children push tiny carts that say “customer in training” I imagine only in half jest. All mind control. Every morning I pass the library on my way to work and imagine how much richer I would be if I spent my time there instead. I remember how Tao Chen said that his government job had made him a slave to his mouth and belly, and how Enkidu longed for his days in the wild while on his deathbed. And yet I am trapped. Why?
Last night I had a dream that I was a hermaphrodite, and that I impregnated myself with my own semen. I then gave birth to a child who was my perfect genetic copy, as I was its father and its mother. I held the baby in my arm and vowed to raise myself better then my father raised me.