I can't even write how I feel anymore because if I do people look at me differently. They don'y understand, even if they do they don't care. So there's no point anymore. There's no point, round or shape.

Words that don’t exist in the english language:

L’esprit d’escalier: (French) The feeling you get after leaving a conversation, when you think of all the things you should have said. Translated it means “the spirit of the staircase.”

Waldeinsamkeit: (German) The feeling of being alone in the woods.

Meraki: (Greek) Doing something with soul, creativity, or love.

Forelsket: (Norwegian) The euphoria you experience when you are first falling in love.

Gigil: (Filipino) The urge to pinch or squeeze something that is unbearably cute.

Pochemuchka: (Russian) A person who asks a lot of questions.

Pena ajena: (Mexican Spanish) The embarrassment you feel watching someone else’s humiliation.

Cualacino: (Italian) The mark left on a table by a cold glass.

Ilunga: (Tshiluba, Congo) A person who is ready to forgive any abuse for the first time, to tolerate it a second time, but never a third time.

Symbol: An arbitrary sign (written or printed) that has acquired a conventional significance.

It's all signs, letters, numbers written for superficial reasons with industries moaning and groaning at the tug of society. Like a rush, they grin and plan to eat their victims souls. GOBBLE GOBBLE, bolus of lies, hate and betrayal swallowed. It slides all slimy down the oesophagus. Dip, drip, dripping. They all end up the way they were: shit.

let's play

Every time I think I’ve hit bottom, every time I think I can sink no lower, every time I think I have slammed face first into the bedrock of depravity, I find a new low. It’s like my life is a limbo contest with the devil holding the stick–how low can you go?