I’m already as much grammatically erratic as I am politically; my posts screaming to be hated. Still I continue to write. The purpose of my articles vary – some are made to think, some are made to promote, some are made to laugh, some are made to get paid and some are made just to fill the pages. Yet in all of these writings, it is only on days of burden, like today, the 2nd time this year, that I have had the bestest time.

Mind you, there are tons of things that I can write about ..though not all of them are deserving. I sort of write things I wanna remember (as it is highly probable for them to thrive). I am spiritual like this. I see blogging more as a way to shred pieces of me – the different aspects that have shaped me, the memories that I treasure. What makes my blog special is it’s discrete truth. I choose to be vague with words to depict the moments I treasure mostly; I prefer them hidden in lies, boxed in truth, custom-built for whom it is intended; it’s message echoing between the lines.

People have to understand that when I blog, I blog personally. Nobody asked you to read me. If you do, you do so in your own discourse. If any of what I write kills you, then consider yourself lucky to have known me, use your final breath to warn of my deathspeak. I do not ask anyone to have anything to do with me. I have already made a list of the people I would die for and you were not on it. I do not regret that you chose to create impressions coz it permits me to be indifferent. That starts now.

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