Carpe Diem.

I don’t have excuses. Frankly I just stayed away. ‘Cause I was pretending to be too busy.
People do that sometimes, you know.

Anyway.
Shitty shitty luck is the topic of the evening.

Even though Word insists I 'delete repeated word' (yes: I type my blog posts on Word first, then copy and paste them onto the new post thingy –you can’t judge), I think the reptition does not stem from redundancy - but from necessity.

Because I’ve got shitty luck galore. Yes, that much. You’d think the universe would be more caring and share my shitty shitty luck with more people so that there’s balance.

I laugh as I even type that out. It’s quite blasphemous, the idea that the universe cares.

But then one day, I bump right into someone with shittier lucky than mine, and I can’t very well complain. Reason doesn’t let me.
Reason understands chance. It does. It purrs at the numbers, and the rarity of combinations. Faith though, dispels notions of luck – they don’t add up in faith ... counting units? No, they all scream 'destiny'.

Personally, I’d like to think luck is every human’s friction with earth. Luck is the reaction to everyone’s choice making and being.

So I’ve made a lot of crappy choice – I tsk myself, really.

Or maybe, the Earth doesn't rub right with my being? :O. Now that is total ruin.

Justin Beiber.

Justin who?

Justin Beiber?

Huh?

Justin Beiber!

:/

JUSTIN BEIBER

You mean the baby-faced mama’s blonde boy that came out of his own ass and wasn’t breastfed long enough?

JUSTIN BEIBER: What the shit is this?

JUSTIN BEIBER: A fatal Global issue.

JUSTIN BEIBER: The near end of the world.

AAAAAHHH!

Justin Beiber, I dismiss you.

So, as you can see, yes, I did change my template again.

I can’t help it; I go all gaga when I see a new template.

And look, it’s all pretty, that you just want to caress it, in a very platonic way.

But I also like the previous on too :(

And therein lays my dilemma.

Which, my fellow readers, do you like best-est?

Apart from that…what was I going to say?

Oh yes. I’ve decided to make a category of posts called ‘Tatters and Rags’, where I would put together the splints and wisps of my thoughts to constitute an awesome filled ramble for you to read.

And so begins Tatters and Rags #1:

I am listening to sick guitar solos, and dying peacefully.

I swear, they are SO incredibly awesome, that you could just sink into them and wait for the apocalypse, with a 'no boredom guaranteed' warranty.

Sexiest shit ever, guitars. *Dreamy look*.

They own, in every possible way there is to own, and then some.

They own, like it’s nobody’s business.

They just own, okay?

So I’m currently happily Facebooking, and holyshit: they’re really all kinds of creatures in the vast space outside, called earth.

I mean nothing says variety like Facebook. Really.

You see them all.

The ones whom you might as well live with, because they insist on telling you what they are doing all the time.

The ones that keep forcing you to be exploited to disgusting lamenting romance songs sung by hillbilly High school dropout bimbos.

The retards with the ‘gangsta’ statuses: ‘Ama go bang bang, aiight?’.

Pft, you should go die die, aiigh?

And the corny couples that keep writing disgusting stuff, all overfilled with hearts and gay endearing words, that could make honey melt.

Sheesh, just ‘cause you signed up for stickiness a-la- carte, doesn’t mean we have to endure it too, yeah?

And they’re all such small people, they should do themselves a favor and just die, you know?

It’s for the better of the planet, and things beyond the planet, even. Heh.

But no, they continue living anyway. Because even if you did tell them that they suck more than Lady Gaga’s hair, hell entire 'iconic' figure soaked in neon pink paint, and then decorated with yellow glitter, they would still exist, if for nothing else than to plague you.

Lady Gaga should die too, did I mention that?

She’s like a cross section between a small time Chinese noodle -seller and a Korean French-wannabe. ‘Ga ga oh la la.’

I tell you, the world is not okay.

The world will never be okay.