Of what makes us.

I really don’t know what to write in the title. So there I said it. Uh-huh.


I’m not making any sense. Perhaps a person without any decent sleep might have the same situation as mine. But it really doesn’t make any sense. Life doesn’t make any sense. Sometimes I’m doing things that doesn’t make sense. Take the silliness of a person having an obsessive-compulsive behavior. If you place things in a tight position or if you leave it as it is, do we have the desired output for such? Of course not, because it doesn’t make any sense.

As what i’m doing right now. Does this make sense? Writing conspicuously without any hesitations on what I will dwell upon. It doesn’t make any sense.

Why do we love or hate people? Does it really matter? Why do we have to conform with society? Why? To achieve peace? If the seven deadly sins doesn’t exist, do we still have to follow rules? It doesn’t make any sense.

I am not making any sense right now.


I wanna sleep.


~ by targrod on April 4, 2008.

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