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When or why is the right time to make a blog post? Fuck me & my brain I called writing in my diary a blog post. Sure, the outcome is going on an internet diary, which is just a bastardized way of saying blog. It’s all semantics. Is a diary for recounting or reflecting? Maybe it’s an amalgamation of the two. Or, yet again, a bastard of one, the other, or both. But even then, the sum feels more than the parts.

In years I’ll have written thousands upon thousands of words and for what? If something happens—hooray, I guess. And if nothing happens then nothing will have changed. Maybe that’s what living for the sake of living is, though: doing new things and taking on new experiences for the event and not the outcome.

Either way, we choose how much we want to care. We might not choose how it enters/exists in our consciousness, but we (at least microscopically) decide how we address everything after the inception.

Marie’s younger sister is spending the weekend with us. I drove & got her with Amelia and hung out at her parent’s place for a bit so Amelia could stretch. They live about 75-90 minutes away. Marie’s dad was watching Death Wish starring Bruce Willis. I caught the last half. It was stupid and really loved sucking gun rights activists’ dicks.

It was so pro-gun my penis fired a .38 round, no silencer.

Fuck gun penises



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