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I like artificial in every flavor. I only hear what I want to. I’ve seen things I can’t unsee. I speak in whispers, if I can even manage the courage to get that far. I suffer from chronic oppression, and as a result I often have a wishbone where a backbone ought to be. At 11:11 every night I make wishes. Habit and superstition feed my foolish fires. I am forever at the mercy of cleverness, because being clever is always easier than being honest, or being right. I like being thorough, and like to think it’s a hard lesson to learn. I lack pretty much all motivation in life, which makes me lost to society. Actually, I find enjoyment in being by myself (I get called a loner based on that). My religion changes with my moods. I guess I draw religiously, if that counts? Writing too. My essays start with a good thesis and follows up with complete nonsense. Which bears a striking resemblance to life, if you get the metaphor. When I’m depressed, I try to be optimistic. Happy thoughts bring happy things, right? Right.