ejaculate, and disperse

I can't say I've lost my muse. I've been writing privately (as though this wasn't private already).

Let's not kid ourselves. I was a pit stop.

I feel nauseated.

There are no future tenses when it comes to the definition of self. You are matter and waste, right here and right now.

The gesture is genuine, although I can hardly discern sincerity these days. I know you are worried but please do not be fraught with exaggerated anxiety over the elements I am shouldering, lest I have to pore over my situation and console you at the same time.

I am almost done analysing characters. The fun seems to lessen every time we start a session. I suppose I am tired of putting half-hearted efforts. They have asked me to be contrary to what I felt comfortable with. I am not amused one bit.

You can fulfill the supposedly necessary physical and emotional prerequisites, in one way or another, but if the heart still clings onto sentiments from the time long past, the mind will continue to waver and wonder. 

I find myself to be more interested in the elements that has made him into what he is today instead of what he's had for lunch this afternoon. The allure of mystery is just as strong as the hunger for enlightenment.

Self-psychoanalysis is more strenuous than I thought it would be.

Fill these spaces up with days.

Dear hand truck, I will miss you dearly. You have been faithful as a dog.

Let it be clarified.

I equate friends with people who are present. I equate a person's significance with how intensely I feel about them not being present.

While you're running along thinking that the number of hits you acquire is the biggest deal in the world, I will attend to my indifference with much enthusiasm and joy.

The happy man is the hollow man.

As my lips parted without a hiss, my body was transported into another realm for an incredibly brief moment. The sensation made me tremble slightly.

It isn't an orgasm. En passant.

The purpose of being. I have differing opinions on what validates us. Then again, what's valid may not neccesarily be true or not fallacious. Deception, if executed cunningly, is valid. Sentiments, however twisted and (morally, socially or commercially) unacceptable, will always be valid because they are what the only thing we can be sure of.