Oh yeah and FUCK Donald Trump.

 Suck my big ass latin dick you oranged head two digit IQ cunt and all your followers aswell.

I've changed

 A little bit. As usual.

I'm still on legal drugs, no surprise there.

I guess I'd say I've changed polically quite a bit.

I was never a Trump, Putin, Netanyahu supporter... but right now my despise for those peoeple has grown more than anything. Probably cause I have nothing else to do... so I argue.

Basically I argue with people who are pro these people and they have no idea why, cause they know nothing about them. Their arguments are vague and I've gotten sick of hearing the same bullshit over and over.

Anyway, I haven't moved... no skate tracks have been built.

A Millenial Mid-Life Crisis

 Does anyone still read blogs? That's some very old stuff. Like, back from when I was a teenager, and even then, nobody read mine. Not mine, at least.

Anyway, whatever. This one is still here, and I enjoy writing stuff for the people who read it (around 5 people whom I have no idea who they are).

Whatever, yo. I've been watching Dahmer again. I can't really sleep at night. Things don't work in this city, and I hate it. I'm sincerely thinking I've reached a mid-life crisis and will probably end up robbing a bank or something and - obviously - getting arrested. That would be a turn in my life.

Some friends have ditched me. Oh, what am I saying? I have no friends; I only had colleagues whom I took drugs with, and that was better than college.

Psychiatrists don't know what they're dealing with when it comes to me. They just want to fill me up with drugs. I don't want to take them. I like drinking, and the drugs don't help.

When I remember I still live in Latrine America, I feel sorry for myself, and there's only one way out: becoming a criminal. My cousin was right when he chose this path... he just didn't know how to manage it.

Going out with Social Anxiety Disorder: everyone is looking at me, how my hair is messed up, how my belly is ten times the size it actually is. I miss the days when I looked like a crackhead and nobody wanted to have anything to do with me; only actual crackheads and other drug addicts, or drug users. I guess that's what I identify with: a skinny, androgynous-looking crackhead with orange hair that I cut myself with a 70's razor blade. It suited me well, and I had respect. Crackheads wouldn't steal from me, and when the cops pulled over to check for drugs, I had none because I was never a drug user. So, whatever.

Being in the system sucks. I quit working. I'll make some candles and sell them on the streets. It's not like work will get me anywhere: not enough money to buy a house or even to eat. Can't live in this city without being judged by everyone who walks past me. I'm considering moving to São Thomé das Letras and starting from there. I can freely walk with top hats over there.