Moul

Habits by nature are reflective. If they were not, they would be disrupted. Habits are purely repetitive impulse, cyclical chains of continual causation.

I’m too tired at the end of the day. Sometimes I work with one eye open. At least I’m not Chinese  I need capital. Money. Assets, Resources. Enough so I can incentivize people to work for me, to prod and prattle their imagination with fictitious opportunity.

Drone on. Fuck censorship. The world is rotten, from the inside out, moldy and boring. How boring? I don’t want to talk with you. You’re anal retentive. Boring. No imagination. No inner light. Your eyes no longer shine like they once did in your youth. They have been extinguished, and you have helped. You oppress yourself, you censor. You control.

No passion. No heart. No feeling. Only aches. Pains. Cramps. And nausea.

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