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Stepping into the puddle, I found myself dry.
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Subject:Excuse me!
Time:05:40 pm
YO YO YO

READ THIS YO

I WANNA BE A MILLIONAIRE

LIKE IN REGIS' SHOW

Honestly, I'm scared about everything. It's this uncertainty that surrounds every person and object in the world. How do I get through this?

FEELINGS MOVING UP AND DOWN LIKE IT'S WALL STREET HOMES

VOLATILITY IN EVERY
BREATH I TAKE,
STEP I TAKE,

BUT NOW I WANT TO MAKE

something happen. lowered the cases.

UHNG IM CLAPPIN ALL NIGHT

SKEET SKEET.
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Subject:This is for Carissa
Time:11:04 pm
People Walking down the concrete on the backstreet of an alley
Watch how a con creeps, no shadows of a valley
This is the introduction, not the grand finale

So here I go in speed like a yellow cabby...

I'm driving through the jungle where people eat fatties
then i spotted a girl in a short distance
I'm talking about Carissa
She hailed the cabby like a Christian
I didn't want to miss her
So I parked and turned off the ignition

I told her to enter and sit in the center
then the seat came to life and ate her placenta



the name is tragic
people think she's Clarissa
that's why shes creates havoc
and my yellow cabby can't have it
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Subject:sad... diarrhea
Time:02:59 am
Silently as I stare outside the window, the rain hits the window's ledge like diarrhea. Of course, there is no stench. I'm inside my small, quiet apartment on the 12th floor, wondering about purpose. My purpose, your purpose, and the purpose in having a purpose.

Nonsense.

Sighing every two minutes, I felt a thousand hands on my pumping heart, compressing it till I had the urge to cry. A tear leaked out of my right eye, as I looked down on the radiator that was located below the window. The tear dropped on the warm radiator, then I expected to hear a sound. A sound that would fizz like a egg frying on a pan, but I heard no sound. The next tear rolled down my face, creating a trail of coating, and dropping to the radiator, but, again, I heard no sound. I opened my mouth and screamed to the top of my lungs as I tore my long black hair with my raw, fleshy hands. Blood sprayed out of my head, as the roots unplugged like a gardener tearing out weed. Then my finger nails pierced my eyes till they resembled scrambled egg whites. But, again, I heard no sound. Bleeding to death, I still wondered why I heard no sound.

I took both of my hands and placed them on my ears, and in the midst of tearing them off, I found something extraordinary. Two little beetles named Alex and Swishy were clogging my ear holes. I was angry, but I did not want the little beetles to seep in any further, so I quietly whispered, "little beetles, little beetles..." Alex and Swishy remained in position and did not say a word. I repeated again, but this time in a German accent. Then suddenly, I heard their voices, echoing as if my head were a dome in Rome.

"Vat iz dis?" The German beetles sounded annoyed.

"Herr Alex and Herr Swishy, your stay at the opening of my ears have gotten me deaf. Please, and I beg of you sirs, I need you all to leave."

The German beetles whispered in my Roman dome, but they somehow kept the echo's to a minimum, hearing only one word: "ear," or was it "year?"

Only Carissa would know.

During my last minutes of living, I realized how foolish I was. "German beetles, I know now." 
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Subject:Frying Pan
Time:12:10 am
Swigging down the coke
Digging down the throat
The attack of the fizzy drink engages with a poke
but now I feel a float
with a sense of hope
the feeling you get when you try a little dope

let me get a little bit more appropriate
i'm hear to talk about the idea behind soviet
union, even though communism didn't work out, so be it
confusion...
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Subject:Pushers
Time:05:31 pm
TURN AROUND and GIVE ME A POUND
TURN BACK and GIVE ME A SLAP
FACE FORWARD and LEAN TOWARDS ME
FACE DOWN and SHAKE YO BOOTY

THIS IS THE BEAT WHERE YOU BEAT YOUR MAN
THIS IS THE HEAT WHERE YOU SWEAT AND DANCE

I SAID SHAKE
SHAKE TILL YOU BAKE
I SAID BAKE
BAKE TILL YOU MATE
I SAID MATE
MATE TILL YOU
HAVE TO PAY THAT CHILD SUPPORT
FOR
FOUR
CHILDREN

BUT WE BACK IN THE BUILDING
WHERE THE MUSICS BUILDING
TO THE FUTURE
I MAKE IT RAIN FOR FREE CHARGE

NOW MAKE THE ENGINE HEAT UP
THIS ISN'T ENGLAND BUT TEA'S UP!

KOREAN BOY ON THIS BEAT WITH THE PIZZA

I MAKE PIES  REMEMBER Pi EQUAL PROFIT
YOU GOT IT?
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Subject:A Message for Help
Time:12:52 am
Turn the lights on!
Get the Lysol!
Use some Pine-Sol
Motherfucker this is cleaning time!
I use products to make the cleanest lines!
I'm white, blue, and red that's why they call me GRIME!
The working hands and the thinking minds
will never ever humanize
No human will ever touch my human eyes
Cuz I spread the vision like AIDS in Africa
And people will know who's after ya
death is what I speak of
thunder bolts like Pika
Chu!
Through
Dude's
Whip
Cruise's
Never ever see the
moves
to
chew
bruises
HANNIBAL IS WHO I AM IN THE NIGHTS OF THE MOVERS
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Subject:From My Eyes, but not My Mind.
Time:11:48 pm
As I looked at my brown leather strapped, gold faced watch, I begin to think about the different compliments that I have received from wearing it for the last couple of years. My father gave it to me. He told me that he got it as a gift, but when he brought it home, I knew, with solid determination, that I had to get that watch. Imagine, the look of my eyes, the look of a child with genuine interest in a piece of solid. But was it time? Was it all right for me to wear this grown-man's object? I was only 14. He refused to give it to me, at first. However, still, my determination had not withered. No, so I had to keep asking, begging, to wear the jewelry. I waited for the question. "If I give it to you, will you be careful not to lose it?" Of course! He would stare at me for a while, then give it to me. Yes! Finally, I will be ballin'. As soon as I strapped the leather around my not-too-hairy wrist, I transformed. Who was it that I transformed to? Wrong question. What was it that I transformed into? Yes, I became, to my father, a piece of him. Somewhere near his heart, perhaps.

Corny? Sweet? Then stop reading this you shit. Oh, why the anger? Lovely temper Mr. Suntae, lovely. Thank you. I apologize to whoever you are. The conscience is a troubling part of my life. I write this to express the memories of my life and sometimes, it is hard to become personal without sounding so feminine. Yes, you got it, I am not only an angry person, but a sexist, angry man. I proudly admit it, but, I believe, we are all innately sexist. It is impossible not to be; what do you have in your pants? Balls? Pussy? Both? Get the point? Well then, digressing is what I do, I guess. From an anecdote to the genitals in your pants, you speak of lovely things Mr. Suntae, lovely.  Lovely, I am.  Lovely, I am. Who would disagree? From what's been said in this entry, it is apparent that Mr. Suntae has an issue that's been common throughout the world. The power of the conscience. How can we control it? Do we ignore it when we think we should? Or will that effect the ways of our lives critically, and perhaps endanger our awareness of living? Living! Doing what we want, doing what we think, and doing that sexy, Latina girl who lives across the hall from you; however, the world only permits us to do what we should. Should do this, should do that? Who the fuck is telling us what we should do? This is why we have rebellions. This is how we have anger infiltrated into the bones and blood of our breathing bodies. Adrenaline is pumped and ready, until the next day. The next day. When will we see this next day? Next day, of course! Ah ha! Next day. What should I wear for tomorrow? ... What, are you a 12 year old prissy bitch motherfucker? Woah, where did that come from? Exactly. Wait, what? Things come fast. Things will hit you so hard, you forgot that it was the next day. The next day. Do we wait for it? Or is the day waiting for us? Maybe, it's nether. Fuck you, stop playing games with my head. The only game that's being played is the one where you're thinking. Wait, like Sudoku? No you idiot - just... thinking. Thinking is a game? Yes, yes, yes. Why do we play it? Why do we ask questions? It is because an answer doesn't exist. But, then, that defeats the whole purpose of actually asking a question! ...so, what are you talking about? Right before we do anything, say anything, thinking is involved, and thinking is a fundamental part of asking a question. The question. The question is about life. Let me rephrase... THE QUESTION IS LIFE. The stream of emotions is what we use as humans. We are a capricious bunch of motherfuckers, and I say this with intense enjoyment. Ha ha. Yes, ha ha. Why laugh? <-(There's a question!) I don't know.<-(Good answer!) But I am happy. <-(Question my happiness)
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Subject:Why Life Sucks
Time:12:49 am
elephant poo BIG (12:44:23 AM): did you do your essay?
KK Suntae (12:44:30 AM): nah
KK Suntae (12:44:37 AM): ive been staring at life
elephant poo BIG (12:44:41 AM): hahahaha
elephant poo BIG (12:44:50 AM): and did you talk to it?
KK Suntae (12:45:34 AM): yeah
KK Suntae (12:45:36 AM): i was like
KK Suntae (12:45:42 AM): yo, why are u so
KK Suntae (12:45:44 AM): sucky
KK Suntae (12:45:46 AM): and then
KK Suntae (12:45:49 AM): iT SUCKED MY PENIS
elephant poo BIG (12:46:00 AM): HAHAHHAA
elephant poo BIG (12:46:06 AM): AND WHAT DID YOU THINK ABOUT THAT?
KK Suntae (12:46:10 AM): it was good
KK Suntae (12:46:13 AM): so then
elephant poo BIG (12:46:14 AM): HAHAHAAA
KK Suntae (12:46:16 AM): i thanked life
KK Suntae (12:46:23 AM): but the funny thing was
KK Suntae (12:46:30 AM): life asked me to pay her 100 dollars
KK Suntae (12:46:34 AM): =I
elephant poo BIG (12:46:36 AM): hhahahahaaaaa
KK Suntae (12:46:38 AM): i was like
KK Suntae (12:46:39 AM): wtf
KK Suntae (12:46:47 AM): she said, "nothing comes free in life"
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Subject:I smell it for 22 seconds
Time:02:46 am
I just released a smell. Yes, the very smell that you find as you are using the toilet. It comes and goes, however. You smell it, breathe it, and live it. Then, after a mere 22 seconds, it is gone. Flush. That very smell is the meaning of life. It comes and goes. When it's gone, can you remember that smell? Surely, stepping into the restroom of a movie theater will intoxicate your lungs with something you will only find in your grandfather's underwear, but, of course, that smell is quite unfamiliar. We only care for what is ours, no matter how hard we lie, but our fart, seems to vaporize in the air. What does this mean? Does my fart have a different master? You are my fart... aren't you? Why can't I smell you anymore? The science behind this should be ignored for what I am going to say. Our farts, yes, the very thing that comes out of our bungholes, are goals. GoalsWhat the bloody hell are you talking about? In life, we make goals to show ourselves and others that there is a reason to be happy- to live. When we achieve our goal, we smell success, breathe success, and live success. But, for how long? For a mere 22 seconds. Why only 22? Well, the next one needs to come out, doesn't it?

Well then, life moves on as the bunghole sings.
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Subject:read me
Time:07:19 pm
How can I think when I don't believe in thinking? 
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Stepping into the puddle, I found myself dry.
View:Recent Entries.
View:Archive.
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You're looking at the latest 10 entries.