Titleous Maximus

It's a good thing I don't have more readers. Oh wait, scratch that, it's actually a terrible thing. It's not NOT a good thing, though, so I guess unscratch that. It's a good and terrible thing that I don't have more readers.

Fucking bloody hell, and bloody Mary. Who first wrote bloody? It aught to be bluddy. Bloody looks like what it looks like. Bloody. Blood. From the root word "bloo", which is clearly a misspelling of the word "blue".

The point of getting on here today was to get myself into a relaxing state. Therapeutic saying things. I love yet don't love at all how, practically, I'm unintelligible. Note. Note. Two-note chord. Three-note chord. Is that music? Is it music yet? I can't tell, but I'm leaning toward it isn't music. Put down the guitar. Pick up the guitar. Consider what I've just done, decide that putting it back down could be the next logical step, and then I could pick it up again. Then, to show my understanding of and lack of appreciation for what's happening, I could swing the guitar full-force against the wall or the bedpost. Those who smoke marijuana do not have this trouble. They do not notice that they are not playing music; they continue to play two- and three-note chords, happily. But then, in their happiness, by their happiness, is sound made music. Of course marijuana isn't the solution.

Open a jar. No, open a can. Open a can of green beans. Take out one green bean. Open one green bean. Take out one seed. Show the seed to the camera. Put the seed back into the green bean, put the green bean back into the can, lower the lid. You are now wondering what is to come of this can of green beans. It is opened, you cannot reseal it. Perhaps you will throw it away, or rubber band some cling-wrap on it. Either one is fine, but you must consider why it was necessary to open the can to begin with.

Mountainous, gliding over the scenery. Nothing matters that matters now. Perhaps into infancy, or into the period when you didn't have so many things to worry about. Before you cared what people thought of you. You once professed flagrant disregard for others' opinion of you. You once picked your nose truly, effortlessly. You wore a lunchbag on your head, marched about singing "We are the soldiers of the world!" You were still criticised for caring too much, though. You didn't struggle with anything. Everything was easy. You were once free. You followed your desires, and although you didn't always get what you wanted, you never had cause for suicide. Now you follow desires, you follow them once again. You chase them. You set your motive, you give it a name. There is no greater achievement than to win the one you want. But there are other great achievements: science, philosophy, learning. Yet again, more than these, to win the one you want. But what are the means to this end? You must pursue lesser goals, and find them found. A shift, though. Contemplation of what you've seen. The greatest aid to a dream fulfilled is the isolation of its driving force. Smith a sword, then make the sword work for you.