Something's Rotten at the Bottom of the Garden

i love sticky notes,
fuckin love'm

anything that can't be explained on a sticky note isn't worth knowing.

i also love caffeine, sometimes it acts as a conduit for all my potential which otherwise lays dormant and buried under the sludge of 'real' life,

{they {who the fuck is this they?} only call it the 'real world', or 'real life' so as to stop their eyes bleeding out and bile bursting from their chests in the face of the knowledge of just how far they are from their central, free and happy selves.}

other times it just brings out the manic/depressive state i knew so well for so long that is actually some blessed union of form and function at work in burning out pure catharsis.

if there's a revolution left in our society it'll be a caffeine fueled rapture, to be sure.

those cunts at the altar of false solemnity are stealing one of the most beautiful minds at work in this world, and i'm rallying the troops to liberate herself from herself before they {they?} eat her heart,

just when i thought my hatred of organised religion had abated they {they!}try to steal one from me.