Poi-g-na-nt-less

I refuse to entertain the idea that lives are pointless. Especially the lives of those individuals who mean something to me, who have opened their insides to me, who have scored my consciousness with their little quirks and thought-caches. I will absolutely rail [revile, vituperate, maim] against those who seek the opposite argument; life is not pointless. People are not pointless. Unless one makes it so, no activity or lack thereof is pointless.

Oh, the things people say to hurt one another -- whether intentional or accidental -- are enough to make me vomit. Just like collections of fleshbags. You see why I'm anti-sentient-dunderheads?

You, most importantly, are not pointless.

Love who you are, who you have become, what you have molded yourself into. Eat, drink, and make merry. To live as one wishes is the only key that fits the door of pleasure. Remember...

I'm still maintaining my exceptionally good mood. You see how logical and makes-sense I've become? If you're mourning the loss of random vine-feeling-though-things, spare yourself the despair. When I'm musing and lost...they'll claw their way out of my sticky-on-the-inside skull. I promise. For now...I want to come across as bitingly intelligent, sharp, sarcastic...and silly. Always silly. What is life without a little silliness? A fucking shame, I must postulate.

I think I'll leave a remnant of silliness. And by the way...no, that's not my Orlando Bloom calendar. Har har.