Perhaps I’ve been asking for it all along. Why have I been the subject of such a rage? I’ve got a few ideas, although, none of them are very credible. Maybe I am just a fag in other people‘s eyes, I‘m fine with that. It’s the people who look behind the outfits and passed the sarcasm, that are worthy of my attention. But I’m not changing for the likes of these, my enemies default. I haven’t changed anything for my family, I didn’t change anything for school, I didn’t change anything for the city. What makes people think that with criticism, I‘ll somehow feel bad and change the way I talk, dress or conduct myself? If I haven’t changed for that which is most conventionally sacred, why should I change for you? This city is full of them; contemporaries on the verge of a nervous breakdown. What makes us stronger is talk. Like a waif to a camera flash, what is most important is one’s reputation, good or bad, and to perpetuate what the social circles, that one has so involved themselves in, have figured you out to be.

There will be a lot of people, just as I, that will cross paths with those with shit for their brain. With an undecipherable fear of being the center of a lonely attention that paralyzes every cell in their bodies. What most astounds me is the fact that I had once had these people as friends. I guess I never really did have them. If their intent was to hurt me, they’ve only hurt me in this respect. What was in my eyes a companionship, has turned into a bitter rivalry. How far people will go.

No one really knows what existence means, what the point of it is. I’m pretty sure it’s the imprint left on the social fabric of your most immediate or your most distant fabric. A chance to say, I existed. I existed and have, many an outfit, to exist.

it's here and it's now and it'll never go away.

sometimes i feel like crying, too.