wordless

[shampooboo]

How interesting it is that we, as a generation, feel the need to justify ourselves through open journals.
I don't know how I feel about this anymore. My more masochistic and exhibitionistic side wants to let it stand as a reminder of how things were, but the logical side of me wants to tear each letter of the html apart. This wasn't my life, this was how I wanted my life to look. How many times did I exaggerate things or play things down? Yet at the same time it is a chronology of my evolution. I could keep writing in here, keep vomiting emotions. I could continue on my quest to articulate my soul.
Do I want to articulate my soul? Shouldn't some things be my own?
I used to want to be a writer, yet I don't trust words, especially when they are trapped forever on paper. What makes pixels any different?
I won't even get into myspace here. It's not worth it.
I want to be able to communicate without words or sounds.
I want to exist without words.

Looking back, there are things that strike me. I was so young.
This won't make sense to anyone but me but that's the way I want it.

This.
This.
This.
This.
This.
This.
This.
This.
This.
This.

My incoherence is a trademark.