Journal Entry for Sunday,February 12, 2012

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Other  |  House: Booksie Classic
Weekends

Submitted: December 05, 2012

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Submitted: December 05, 2012

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The days have ended. The day is ending. As usual. No Change. Same as countless before. Same as countless to come. The inertia is strong. The frictin too stuborn. The will so weak. The urge so clumsy. The affect is a burden. The strains so damning. The soul is searching for a meaning in all what is happening. The soul is tired ready to succumb. The soul is weeping. The heart is aching. The body is failing. The mind, ever the slave to old age whims, churning the same images. A captive to itself, closing every evenue to get free. The attractions are many. Their effects devastating. The mind is weak, the body accomodating. Nothing is tasteful. Everything is junk. The taste has gone. The mind is a junk. Nothing to produce of taste. The death is a favourite. A favourate pass time. Broken dreams litter around. A baggage not easily thrown away. They have stings pinching every living part of the being, every second making everything noxious and the day a  bad dream. Everything being done feels bad. The life is a misery and I am living every moment of it.


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