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Well it's three in the morning on a Friday night as I loiter about my comp in crinkled boxers tinged with fruit roll up stains. I've a seamlessly reoccurring dream that I've been in this physical state or mood of thought before and it is little wonder. I'm sixteen years old dwelling in an environment where gunshots aren't aberrational, where cocaine is a euphemism for sugar and where if your dog (or anyone living for that matter) dies in your midst you'd best chuck it out the window before triple-inch-lengthed tarantula looking rats burrow through your decade old carpet to suck on the blood of the carcass. Oh and it's not your carpet, It's not your walls and you'd mine as well call it a pitch-tent neighborhood.. Not because you can get shot through the cerebrum at any given time (which, trust me, is VERY likely) to come abruptly face to face with whatever creator you conceive, but if the rent isn't due to the hobbling, weatherbeaten landlady who periodically emerges from some execrable depth (YES, she looks identical to the illustrations of Cinderella's oldest sister. The big, FAT one), you'd better start counting your luck because it's most definitely going to rock-slide from there. How I am here?---why am I here and---what have I been brought up to be?-- are three questions only the latter of which I have a remote clue. Some in this living hell will equate me to an Uncle Tom, forumgoers here can see me as some type of black cherubim who will glide over the forums in the guise of pretentious nothingness. The rest of the world has yet to behold whatever it was I was meant to be. Only adulthood can pave a path out of this predestined misery.


Till then... Good Night and sleep tight you intelligent-packed forumgoers who most likely don't intend to view this! Nighty night night night