SHIT.
Fuck.
This is. Not good. Totally. Not good.
Fuck.
Why does it happen in the evenings? Fucking crepuscular angst. I'm like... an angry bat. Or a placid cat. That's like... the shittest superhero ever.
HALF BAT. HALF CAT.
BLIND. GREAT HEARING. AWESOME BALANCE.
Got a crime to solve that includes ropes, and quiet victims? Call BATCATMANGUY.
Meow.
I should like. Post about something. Honestly. I've got three followers now, and since the third joined up (probably coerced knowing me, I forget) I've posted nothing of even debatable merit. All I've done since then is engaged in a heated debate about the legitimacy of sexual consent laws; honestly, who thinks that they're too high, or too low? Who has insight into the development of the prefrontal cortex? I'm missing something which fills in the blanks here; I need convincing empiricism; so far all I've got is... fuck knows, possibility rhetoric. Cerebellum affected by environmental stimulus; prefrontal entirely genetic. What does that mean in any real sense? To most people; nothing. That's not good enough. Gah.
Really drunk. Horribly drunk. Have spell-checked this about nine times already. Taking ages to say anything. Miss ranting. Have had nothing interesting to rant about. Perhaps I'm in some kind of writer's self-pity mode; where everything I write is either too shit, or too pathetic. Fuck knows. I don't think I am. I don't think I'm even thinking of writing. I think I'm distracted.
Going back to uni. Hoorah. Further from what I want. Shit. Bollocks.
Mmm sequitur.
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