A faceless harlequin.
I am but am another nick of the percentage of the melodramatics who claims to live mainly in a delusion, if living it may be called. Another bloke with a bad-case of injected estrogen, cigarette, despondence and loneliness. And these are my impetuses for the flailing eloquent wisps of my pen and euphonious clacking of the keyboard.
I am cautious, suspicious and skeptic to people, to their ideas and motives, to theories, to facts. A little streak of misanthropy, I will admit. However, I do not take life lightly; I want to live passionately and intensely. A superficial life is worst, if not tantamount, to no life at all. On perverse logic though, my fears and my status strangulates me in a leash of mediocrity. And mediocrity is not humility, it is impotency. Still, I am always on the lookout for new things, but certainly do not require it.
I'm part-Asian and part-Peter Pan and I could use some criticism especially on my grammar. Thank you.
I also linger here:
These thoughts are all my reticence had provided me, rather scarce. Bask in my entrees and you might as well find me there.
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