I really seems like writing is almost as theraputic as talkin to a good listener you know? I've heard somewhere that writing is like putting poison from the pen to the paper but whatever I'm full of kind of comes out and it brings a smile to my face after I write something good... but anyway a lot of shit has happened but in the grand scheme of things small potatoes.. But whatever right, I've lost a huge pastime of mine, we'll it's really not a pastime but when I did certain things it would be epecially for this, but now no mas.... hopefully somebody will crank it up again but it'll never be the same. I've seen the power of a determined crackhead and that is pretty powerful! I've seen how materialistic and petty I have been and still am because I see so many things with covetous eyes. I want to covet with my eyes. But the crazy thing is that the chick who put me on trying to cut something out of my life for at lest a lil bit is wasn't bout what she was talkin bout or either I listened to hard... I also had the script flipped on me REAL hard and it's got me really thinkin' wierd shit and for a while really had me actin' like a herb, and even now I as I write this it's hard not to feel like a herb, it's probably because I've got constant reminders of this bamboozelement and I'm not strong enough to get rid of them and do and what I need to do. I'd rather let my brosef live as a zombie than do what I need to do and blow his ass off you know... and no situation I'm in is that serious but there are comparisons, I can't pull the trigger.I'm hitting the books again and really don't want to speak too much on this because education and learning isn't cool, that's why I keep my books in a pizza box... I'm back working on my fitness after a enjoyable hiatus and in the same vein as that i am trying hard and sticking to my new years promise to myself, and it's so hard because lurst is a muddafucka but I'm stronger than the lurst aren't I?

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