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THE INFINITE NORTH-POLE
Conjure by writing it down.
With words, Seal the evil inside.
///////
French, Londoner, Male. This is my writing blog.

Mental limits

Laisses moi oublier.

J’en peux plus.

Il faut que tu me laisse oublier.

Avant qu’ ça me tue

atteindre le 0.000

Voluntarily induced amnesia,

The reason I keep going.

haha

Détruire juste pour le plaisir,

me fait facilement sourire.

rubans bleus

On the TV, on the Radio, on Internet,

everyone can’t cease to show and tell,

about how cool it is, to interract with others.

To go to parties, to drink, socialise,

and have a laugh all together.

Everywhere,

everyone points out how stupid I am for not having that too.

But I tried. I tried.

And it’s too hard.

They hate me!

And I hate them back.

Wether it’s this guys starring me on the bus for no reason,

Or those people at the office, talking to me like I was a wounded bird,

just because I have anxiety issues.

I hate them so much, I would bethroat them with my own teeth.

Since little I’d have this fantasy of the apocalypse.

A terrible terrible terrible cataclism.

Something terrible. So terrible that everyone would die, or so.

If only something that huge could happen.

If only I could be the last one of my own species.

If only they could all die.

All of them.

Life could be so much easier for me.

-

When I close my eyes sometimes…

…I can see it all, burnning.

I can see the world, ingulfed in flames.

Corpses devoured by columns of fire,

Bones, and metal…liquified.

Building in pieces,

laying at the bottom of some meteors craters.

And there’s nobody left.

There is Nobody.

"All the truth in the world won’t cure you"

Que tu vives a Londres,

Ou à Paris,

Personne ne t’aime, non, personne ne t’aime.

Qu’importe ce que tu en pense,

Ce que tu en dis,

Personne ne t’aime, non, personne ne t’aime.

Tu seras seul,

moi je l’ai prédit,

Tout comme personne ne t’a aimé,

Personne ne t’aimera.

Rant about “Skinny-shaming social justice warriors”

Afficher davantage

Rant about cheap poke-fans

Afficher davantage

Degrés de maîtrises

And standing there,

you would eventually,

spend hours telling me,

how much it doesn’t matter.

Only you forgot, 

that I can see through.

Only you forgot, 

That I’ve been a liar before you.

Demerit

Moi qui, adolescent,

pensais tout savoir.

Grandir m’a fait du mal.

Grandir me fait du mal.

So basically, this happend today.
I ACTUALLY MET NEIL HARBISSON AT A LIGHT STOP IN ALDGATE STATION.  AND I GOT TO SHAKE HIS HAND! I SHOOK HIS HAND.
(for those who don’t know yet) <—- recap of why this is amazing

So basically, this happend today.

I ACTUALLY MET NEIL HARBISSON AT A LIGHT STOP IN ALDGATE STATION.  AND I GOT TO SHAKE HIS HAND! I SHOOK HIS HAND.

(for those who don’t know yet) <—- recap of why this is amazing

Honestly one of my movies of the year if not the one.
Humorous, but tender. Sad Also.
this film depicts with sensibility
how one comes to want to commit suicide.
(Here&#8217;s the OST)

Honestly one of my movies of the year if not the one.

Humorous, but tender. Sad Also.

this film depicts with sensibility

how one comes to want to commit suicide.

(Here’s the OST)

Amnésie temporaire

I crave for human interactions. 

But when at grasp,

I have no idea what to do with it.

I have no idea,

what I’m suppose to do with it.

La vérité et ses démons.

I have this thing. 

This capacity to be seen,

as the good guy arround.

As that one person you could tell your secrets,

and trust with everything.

Whilst my entrails, like brambles of deception,

are vile. Putrid, even.

Fume, with the odours of envy and self loath.

Hatred, and misplaced ego.

Traitory and warm venom.

They say, some people always put on an act,

to make themselves appear unlikable by the many.

:Stupidly enough, I am their polar opposite.

The truth is,

repugnant,

I spend my days, pretending.

Wearing that mask, which I’ve never wanted,

for it makes betrayal,

so much easier to perform.

Amusing even,

at times.

.

The truth is, detestable.

The truth is, its own evil.

.

"I saw you last time. You made him cry on purpus, didn’t you?"

Les absents ont toujours tort

Funny how, once not that drunk anymore,

I’m suddenly not that great of a friend to you…

…I guess that’s just what I can afford. 

A “too drunk” to “too pathetic” kind of friendship.

I guess you’re just what I can afford

duuuude

My favorite French illustrator just messaged me back on here. Screaming internally never made so much sense / felt so right.

I can die happy now. Accomplishment people. ACCOMPLISHMENT.