001414447111736145167451451

“how many entries in the blog were supposed we’re supposed to be the last one?”

“all of them.”

“the whole thing?”

“in hindsight.”

“and now?”

“now i don’t know anything at all.”

“you’re satisfied with that?”

“i don’t care, i don’t think anyone should care at all.”

“what will it take?”

“i can’t imagine a future where im not drowning in shame or self loathing. i can’t feel good about myself, so i can’t imagine what it would would take.”

“seems defeatist, not at all like you. i don’t buy it in fact.”

“the miasma is incomprehensibly vast. i’m not sure which direction or orientation i’m even lost in. can’t tell the time, the temperature, can’t see any ground or sky. just a vast and endless ‘matter of fact’ or something of that nature.”