I AM REALLY TRYING NOT TO MOURN THE DEATH OF ALL THINGS GOOD (read: more like, livable or whatever) AS MY EXISTENCE TICKER PREPARES FOR IT'S IMPENDING, ANNUAL, MOST UNFORTUNATE, +1.

because, as we well know,

KILLING IS AT A PREMIUM. 

NONE OF THIS IS ODDLY SATISFYING. 

IT'S JUST REGULAR            

NOT SATISFYING,            

WHICH IS ALSO NOT            

ODDLY SATISFYING            

OR REGULAR SATISFYING            

OR EVEN SLIGHTLY SATISFYING.           

THE TERRIBLY FAMILIAR CYCLE OF FEROCIOUS COMPULSIONS DEFINED BY THE INSUPERABLE GALAXIES OF SELF LOATHING ONLY DILATES IN SIZE AND NEVER LACKS IN PRESENCE; WITHIN THE CALCIUM ANTRE ATOP THE VERY ARCTIC PEAK OF MY HUMAN FORM,

TORTURE REIGNS SUPREME.

MY ENTIRE PHYSICAL BEING IS TOTALLY FAILING ME.
EUTHANASIA BEING ILLEGAL IS ALSO A COLOSSAL BUMMER.