Yea, big glossy-eyed tenor. Big glossy-eyed juice box of melted human meat, of flogging counter-acted testament, of mindless and senseless mental acrobatics to put inside my emotional self.

Yea, I know. My soul has acknowledged what my tongue and body have rejected. My mind and gut are empty. I have felt no compassion where I had reason to and I have felt every thread of sadness in my own space, alone.

I find my generation guilty of me. I find a lackluster appetite for the refined beauty-of-person. Are these people the essentials of society? Are these people necessary for the spectrum but useless for the function? Are these people the cause for the function?

Distaste. I have felt it I have never sensed it. I have opened my big, disgusting mouth and have said the words myself. I have said the words to myself. I know.

I know a young man. Depressed. Useless in attitude only and on-talking well spoken of the dangers of normality and the meaningless in everything and awkward sex. I can't give up on him because my soul feels his words but I am revolted constantly by his angst. His little boy, big dick angst. A creature of essence to this world.

I know a lady. Reminds herself each and everyday that she is rational, and worthy. Reminds herself she is capable of being loved. I believe what she believes, therefore, she is not rational or worthy.

I want to know each and every stranger. I want them to be magnificent.

I've heard people say my writing is "too plain" and unintellectual.