Warning: This journal is exactly what the title says it is. This is venting. This is rage and this is emo. If you don't want to read it then don't. By reading beyond this point you waive the right to make snide remarks. You have been warned.

I'm tired of this rock. I'm tired of this speck of fucking dirt whirling through space. I am sick of the shit-for-brains species that inhabits it. I'm sick of the constant stream of idiocy so thick I want to bash my head into a wall. I am sick and fucking tired of waking up each day to hear about how many more people have been blown to hell by some bomb. We all deserve to die. Every last fucking one of us. The parasitic maggot millionaire who complains about his fucking bank account being too fucking small while people whither and die. The obscene glutton shoving burgers in his face while people starve. The idiot animals who live only to fuck and breed. The narrow-brained fucks who call for the different to die. The pit-dwelling failures who can't be bothered to climb out. The optimists living in the best of all worlds, exempting themselves from trying to fix it. The ignorant kings of fools who know they're the smartest men in the whole fucking world. The slavering masses screaming "kill the fucking fags" and "kill the fucking towelheads." You know what? Yeah. Fucking do it. I am sick and fucking tired of listening to the idiot children and their petty bitching. So let's get it the fuck over with. Let's go a little "The Final Solution" on the world. Go ahead. Nuke the hell out of the middle-east. Who knows? Maybe I'll get lucky and we'll nuke the shit out of Russia and China too. Hell, lets hit every nuclear power. Get some Mutually Assured Destruction going on. God, what I wouldn't give right now to watch the human race burn away in a radioactive firestorm. Kill everybody and let God sort them out. We don't deserve anything better. Nobody, not you, not me, is exempt. We all deserve to burn.

Because we all fall in there somewhere. What am I? The obscene glutton. Sometimes I'm the king of fools. Today I'm the narrow-minded fuck. But above all else I am the pit-dweller, comfortable in his hole and whining, whining that the world won't come down to meet him. Maybe you haven't noticed, maybe you weren't listening, but I'm sure you've heard me whine.

Not quite in the pit, but not anywhere else either. To watch people's lives fail. To watch them drive willfully into the pit. And to realize that the only reason I'm not that weak is because I'm not that strong. Not even a proper failure. The only reason I'm not a train wreck is because the train never got moving. I haven't got the energy to crash and burn. So what I am then? A failure to fail. A non-entity.

Everything that I am is a distortion. My cynicism, the scarred remains of an idealist. My emoness the symptom of a hopeless romantic and an idiot child. My misanthropy the carcass of a love for humankind. My stagnation only the distorted reflection of failure. So what's the point of me? I am a distortion. I am a distortion of nothing. A distortion of nothing is nothing. I am nothing. I exist. I take up space. That is all. I am nobody. A non-entity.

I'm tired. I'm tired of this. I'm tired of all of it. I'm tired of the world. I'm tired of my own thoughts. I'm tired of wishing for things everybody gets but I cannot have. I'm of tired of it being my fault.

If you can't tell by now, I am not in a good mood. As you know, I haven't been doing too well for the past few weeks. It's been taking more and more effort just to keep up to date online, and I've been falling behind anyway. I'm not going to say that I'm taking a break from the internet, but I am. I'm still going to try to keep up, but don't be surprised if you don't hear from me over the next few days. You might, you might not, I don't really know. As for tomorrow's ramble, yes this places it in jeopardy. I will try to pull something together for you by tomorrow morning, but I'm not making any promises. Don't be surprised if the ramble is MIA. I don't know what to write about, and I don't have any motivation. I don't feel like writing. I don't feel like thinking. I don't feel like existing. I feel like hiding in bed or punching a wall.