I am a conundrum of killer proportions. I live vicariously through an endless array of methological and psychosematic instances. I create shapes and a bunch of unexplainable paradoxes when im bored and tend to choose irony as a form of miscommunication. Im a technicolor junkie wrapped in a jungle of infested carabaos and tarsiers waiting to attack me the moment I let my guard down. I find it soothing to hear loud obnoxious noises from people. Silence kills me. I travel once a year, ironicaly the best place on earth isnt filled with green grassy knowles or extremely fresh air, but the opposite. I shift emotions three quarters of the time, especially during peak hours. I work swing shift, but Id rather work the graveyard. Time to me is none existent, i find it disproportionate to the things I want to achieve. To me I move time, and time waits for me. The irony of life is that, five people can be walking, but none of them are moving. I eat, and sleep and sometimes breath when necessary. Enjoy yourself biatches, its a celebration.  | |||||
| | | |||
|
