In this diary for the insane, another sad entry. One metaphor about disentery and another about poultry say a lot. A lot.
And, I wonder, what is it one did, or others say one did?
The ones who know me, know me.
I know what I did not do. I do not send nasty stuff, though I did get plenty. That much I know. I know that, instead of going here and there, I do stay here (mostly).
It does not have to make sense to anyone but one.
Am I crazier than a shithouse rat, or braver than the Lord Satan on a Saturday night? I think it's somewhere in the middle of that.
I'll stand, and wait.
And remain myself. You do know.
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