Lack impotence my entire life in the end no surprise if I don’t do a thing. No way I don’t feel like a specific problem. Or something. Something to do with me. Yeah. As in. You know. As in you know the song. Like your very own psychological place. Getting doing away with it. And those fingers moving all the fucking time. And the fucking thing that I can’t really feel like anything. I don’t really work. I don’t really feel like it in any case anyway were it the world when down there yeah were it were it then mayhap. Mayhap. As in even if. Even if. The point in all this shit in the fingers the inferior the street the conflict etc etc the grey etc.
So annoying. The wall. The shitty sweet stuff. And the absence thereof. That’s a result of your arse your arse all failed failed problems and feelings through and through the same strands. All the time. I am here. I hate it. I know it. I hate it. I don’t. That’s the thing. I can’t any more. I say that I’m thinking of a world I could even be in. I guess it’s not about not reading enough the words the words no need to look to the classical ones just start without a form in the mind. A street among the most international in the end you think about it. That could be it. But of course it could also not be. Or not much. No. Anyway. Not much else. The fingers are still there. There and then. The fingers with the trace. The threshold. The other thing which is the second one. The past. One more form of the standards.
Second batch from AIT.