What the fuck? No.

This song is playing again. But… It’s 2.36pm.

You don’t want to be someone like me at all.

What’s the point of teaching anyone to see shit the way I see it?

Where’s the public actual fucking hands down EXPLICIT DIRECTIVE.

No where. Because people are curious to observe the fuxking train wreck of a life ruining .

I must turn the music off. Turn the radio down. I am the radio. Hah… fucking hell. I’m lost in the audio.

Fuck you all. Too music noise is made anyway. I didn’t want to contribute to the shit. There’s too much information and noise and light and physical pollution anyway.

My solution to end over population was to just shoot eve ry one out into space. No life support. Let them asphyxiate on the empty nothing.

I don’t care. I don’t know them, everyone can suffer. Just spare the people I do know. The people I give a fuck about.

Well… how about we just shoot me into space instead. All aboard the dogstarship.

And I am the pink Kat. Sigh.

My world is a mess. I’m a specimen.

The plan is to put myself into hospital. I’m done… my life is fuxking shit. I am shit. I can’t stand existing like this anymore.

And since I’m too gutless to suicide rifle squadron myself, I can do the next best th ing and send myself in… mental health act, wipe my brain clean. I don’t want to be me.

Or just extract it and shove it in a jar on your science shelf.

I mean hey, my collection of Hearts in jars was a metaphor. But that doesn’t mean I don’t have that affect on people…