writer in exile, day 2

i think about all the ideas i have in my head. When do they become real. I'm beginning to realize dream and reality are two different hells. the dream nobody will every know. Teh reality everbody gets to have their fucking opinion. what is that i want. I asked myself yesterday, seriously, do i want to be happy.

and so people would think that's an easy question. i never wanted to be happy. I never wanted to be happy. i wanted to suffer like Jesus, i thought it would make me a matyr. but as i get older it only makes me more alone. it makes others stop speaking to me. i get so tired of it. after twenty five, we hide our intentions.

and then i think of jesus, how lonely it was at the ending. why is it they appreciate you after the fact. what if jesus never died on the cross. what if they believed to begin with. why do we have to go through such extremes. and maybe that's why i never believed in relegion. such fucking extremes. why can't we believe we're already happy. why do we need the ultimatums.

writer in exile, day 2, and nothing much has changed. i talked to that albino yesterday. i think it's funny how he wants everybody to pay attention to him, so sneaky but he pay attention to no one and he thinks no one notices. maybe he doesn't have the time. maybe he is one of those people who are so busy, and they always telling you how busy there are like it means shit. i laugh because i figure out the riddle the first day, and now i'm just letting him make it true.

he wonders why i call him the albino, he aint got no shadow

but anyways, back to me