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we each have too short a time. we get washed with the sea of those endless nescessities, things that aren't real and we never, ever want to be real (in our 'idealism') and end up stuck in the same fucking filth of the past.

no matter what I do this is the reality I face. death is better than that certainty. so what? that's all that keeps me alive. all that keeps me from this leaving this frigid, rigid sickness is the thought that I'm going to change it.

i just wish I could bear this. I can't.