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Dear God

Look here upon this society of thespians, cultivated by reciprocal delusion, matured by observational amendment. My adolescence pillaged recklessly to state void of compassion. What is love, if love be irrevocably blind? This catharsis; this adulterated liberation, manifestly not blind nor gratifying neither. Alas love a deficient concept.  What is this perpetual adoring; why this pestilent parasite? A mutual quintessence presents not. My sterile disposition inept; how can one adore whilst not adored? What motive is spent upon this desolate stage? I loathe beauty, I detest company; I despise what I grasp not. This self-solidarity of solitude is my narcotic ecstasy in this theatre of belligerent bastards; this congregation of arrogant pretentious cretins. What be love but a delusional comfort. What be life but a dawdling demise. What be thou, the god; recipient of my vomited discourse? A nonentity you be but a fictitious token.

About Silly Cats
Started in 2008 the blog has since then been discontinued... These are a selected few archived blog posts starting with the last post first. Silly Cats
Silly Cats Smoke Pipes
Exclamation of contempt occurring without definite aim, reason, or pattern. This is the home to self-eradicating gluttony and feigned psychological-gratification. Get some red plonk, cigarettes, and some cake and succumb yourself to the fabricated sensations of pleasure galore. Don’t squander thoughts on hangovers, diets, and personal hygiene. Spend your days instead intoxicated and aggressive. Then die young of an overdose in a hotel room surrounded by prostitutes, in a poetic symphony of self-pity and artistic contempt. Label every man, woman, and child a parasitic monkey, shout "how dare you", spit out your fag in disgust, "Good day sir!" and slam a door!