.bollocks to you!
..so you basically sign up to a place whose erratic follies you came to enjoy. Often extravagant, at times peculiar, but very rarely the coke-fuelled, braying chowder they make up for the tellyvisor. only to then tell its inpatients "erm, you guys act a bit deranged". This being your ONLY contrabootying after what, SEVEN mother-loving YEARS? What are you like? Oh, well, can't help it, propably. The entirely misunderstood obligation to unrequestedly judge outer traits of people you hardly know based on ubiquitous standards one was too afraid to not obey, one reason i left this merry island.

Speaking for myself here. Don't need any excuses for what i write about. Even if it's Tesco Value runny shit, my life is the most immersing one i ever lived. And what change in behaviour was requested (or at least in an sufficient "match between toes" way) is happening, always, to anyone, to his capacity. With people to open the bonnet and have a poke around and go durr hurr over my ways being just about the best reason i become reclusive and brisk in ways.

Let me finish this poo-flinging lunch break on a personal note. Some of my friends and two women i love are to a varying degree deemed to be "diagnosed". The ones who don't give an intercourse are big fun to be around and even delight look-how-awkward people like you, while steadily supplying the motif to great things in music, art and qotw. And the ones who were baited or bullied into correctional measures, well, there is a reason they call it the-rapist. Fixing a bird with chisels and WD-40 it is. I will miss them and try to stay true to their madness, to their truth, rather. Madness, it is the world itself. And the sickest are the ones who fit it best.
(funktrash soul = combustion engine, Thu 21 Oct 2010, 12:27, Reply)