You've got to have some reason for doing it. I mean, you wouldn't do it if you didn't have a reason, right? Well, that's pretty much wrong. As time goes by, it seems more and more people are beginning to act without reason. But that's okay. There's no need to be held down by reason, anyways. It's just another constraint. And who needs to be constrained?

Bridging over to other thoughts… Who needs me? I mean, I server even less of a purpose than all of you. All I do is sit here and write, and let myself be debased by your idiocy. But just who are you? Who am I talking to? Why am I even talking to you? Is this goodbye, or is this just a new hello? Well. Let's see just who I am.

My name is Gary Warman. You see me as MahFreenAmeh here. I spend my time writing, whether it be things of an intellectual nature or not. I also spend time making music, But that's not important information. I have friends. But they don't matter. I have people I talk to. But they don't matter. I exist. But I don't matter. I like to put heavy thought into things that I write, almost all of the time.

And I really do enjoy it when people would put some form of thought into things they have to say to what I have said. But it doesn't really matter, anyways, does it? nothing really matters in teh end, because we're all just gonna disappear. oh well. Enough of saying that same thing over and over.

But… This isn't hello. I've been here for two years. Not that I've served much of a purpose other than some form of idol representative of how you should never post, how you should never act. Sure, some of you might have paid attention to me. But it's not the attention that I care about. Well, it's not whether or not you paid attention to me.

Hell, I don't think I really even care about anything like that. It's just… I mean, positive attention is nice. Even negative attention is nice. But the one thing that has started to drive me insane is every last member here, almost. With the exception of a few, msost of you are retarded people who really need to learn how to think, or at least put an ounce more of thought into things than you're used to. It's not really htat hard to think, believe it or not.

So I can post things like streams of consciousness, and only get replies like "lol tl;dr i don't fucking care what you have to say." Do you know that that hurts? It really does. But that's just me complaining. After all, it's not your fault that you're incompetent. You're run by mostly a gang of incompetent mods and admins. The only two admins that I really think are any good for this site are Melee and Ludamad. I'm not going to go into reasons why, or anything like that, because I don't really want to, and you won't see it anyways. Or so I feel.

I have things to say. Not necessarily important things to say, but I would appreciate it if some people cared to at least put some thought into their relpies to what I ahd to say.

It really isn't easy to deal with being depressed chronically. I don't know why I am. But I am. It's hard to deal with being bipolar, and having an inferiority complex… It's hard to deal with basically having multiple personalities, with one of them wanting to kill you. It's hard to deal with this world sometimes, so what I do is write. And I'm just an emo faggot.

I'm an emo faggot. I'm an emo faggot. I'm an emo faggot. I'm an emo faggot. I'm an emo faggot.

I mean, nothing ever said could be as true as that. But still. There isn't much more for me to say. I'm just taking up space now, because, you know, I might as well.

Now, if I were to post a regular blog, it would probably have content like this in it:

"It all goes down eventually tearing itself up at the roots it is a name an escape a fire burning in the heart the soul the existence of nothing embodied ideologically in falsity we are the motion of galvanized steel torn asunder to satisfy both parties as though by king Solomon I can hear the ostinato beat escaping from within 123 in silence falling before the eyes of the proud the need and want fills the heart the will overpowers , distorts the wall of solitude, fortifies the heart and run from an excuse.

Generalized machines tear down the door to try and find themselves; to kills one's master and lead by hand by heart, the pulse is starting to destroy, being up again definitvely the red sorry, black dawn tearing apart the halls of our life corporations fit the excuse of the league and fire upon the lowly and when the fore of your passion engulfs my mind I can not feel numb to the core, eating away heartfelt nothings escaping your lips. I want to see the real you without this cloth you project as your lying personality, dormantly tearing apart, ranting and slashing, my heart is dashing and I want ot tell you all that's on my mind I want to hear your words telling me that I'm the dust escaping your breath.

I want to tel lyou just what it means to me to modularize my existence and fit into another socket, we are the machines giving ourselves the falling final countdown to release our feelings; tell me the falsity of my actions and adjust my ways. I want to break free from freedom of everything; we distort the paradigm and build our own revolution dedicated to the heart beating in your chest alligning good to the bad, sequentially hardening the mind. I'm so awfully used to hearing it until it rips apart my insides and tosses me skyward; I want to help myself to escape the oppressive tyranny of human institution, of existence; and in silence the night refrains to itself, terraforming the ground into crates of sorrow and regret.

We can feel the essence of the world overpower our will and tear us to bits and pieces; I want you to hear me, I want you to hear me, I want you to hear me, I want, want can not feel the mind, deus ex machina fleeting with this expression of utter permanence digging into the soil and planting our roots deeply, this world is ours, there is no turnaround, just the fortitude that madness brings, and the solitude, and the morbid darness brooding in silence naught but a coil for the energy to flow. Can it be felt, or is it just another whimsical sign of our times fleeting into an ever-collapsing totalitarian scheme to toll and toll, to fall with them all. Asunder were the beliefs torn when the pleasure came to be. I can only care about nothing, naught but everything. You are the silence embracing the calculating darkness encroaching upon life itself, and I turn a blind eye, am deafened. I lack understanding why you conspire like this; but put the heart away! Now is the time to come out and play!

Asphyxiation by your hands, I can hear the light as a manifestation holding my hand, embracing my heart, but it harms me, it warns me of the inherent pain in existence. I can not further see past the blindness your radiance gives off; these words ne'er chase my lustful muse, filling my mind with thoughts, ideas, constant as the beating of a heart, we are the falling. We are the rising, are we defining, but for the present company, we are ourselves to express as we so wish.

And we so wish to harp on about our own troubles, diminishing into augmentation, the mind is burning, yearning to find the proper words, twenty and twenty, go forth to feel what I can never, heal yourself to reveal yourself. I am the machine; we can not tolerate your foolishness, darkness creatures closing in to become all manner of beasts ripping the fabric of reality asunder. Without your words, I can feel the egg of a new pain setting in ambience, surrounding and the band swells, but how the sound is dissonant and out of play; a statement about life. Reality… is there question of existence, or do words forever more mask the feeling of escaping this emotion? I can not deny when I look into your eyes and like that it's gone; my salvation is never near, but my belief animates this illusion of safety.

We are the garrison, the reserve singling out the proud. We illusion ourselves with the condemnation of lucidity; every feeling is just another lie, but it feels so good to believe in the falsities perpetrated further by the device known as life. 120 average, the beats are pulsing quicker into an infinite nothing, a lack of all that will eventually fall in due time, but these words… they are stopping; the frequency is osing touch and I can feel a heavy anthem in my mind. Upon the anual celebration of escape, they speak to me, but who are they? Why are they? I need to know why I feel compelled to torture myself like this, ad infinitum, but who am I, and where do these words coem from? The depths of darkness fault themselves into meager distractions; our new revolution is now returning to the times of timidity; we can not feel what we, how we should feel… As though sentience were nothing but the falsity we know it to be."

Of course, that's just something that I took from out of my binder that I wrote like… a couple of weeks ago, I suppose, when I was having an attack, so to speak. A stream of consciousness. And what would you say? Probably something like tl;dr, and what not. But I'm just predicting.

I can't be held accuontable for anything that I don't have supreme knowledge of.

In closing… I don't know. This isn't closing. I've just rambled to get here, and never really followed a coherent point. I don't even think that I made the point that I wanted to make. But I will soon get to that. Not now. But soon. Or perhaps not even soon, maybe never.

You don't care, 64D. I'd say it was 2 years well spent, but that'd be a damn lie.

Then again, this isn't necessarily the end. I just don't spend enough time here, right? But it's hard to want to spend time here, because of how all of you are. I may be judgmental, but I've had plenty of time to come to the conclusion that I have come to. Secrets are out. Sucks to know it. But hey, I wouldn't think this if I didn't think that it were to be even remotely true. I'm sorry that I wasted your time.

But I think I might continue wasting your time in the future, if I get the chance. I don't know. I like to think that I matter. It's fun to lie to yourself, don't you think?

"On the sign of a spotted nation,

Our dreams populate the world,

We are the new generation,

Of acceptance and hate unfurled,

Dancing upon the dotted lines,

We are our own divider,

Enslaved to our worsening times,

A gift of frankincense and myrrh.

So cheers, drink up to sorrow,

And let's laugh our pain away,

Today, yesterday, and tomorrow,

Are just concepts anyway.

So let's just keep on in song,

In hopes that we might be heard,

Everything that we've done is wrong,

We're just another dream deterred,

But I just can't deny the fun,

Of making up these stories,

We're living life on the run,

And escaping life's big freeze,

Oh I'm but another punk,

Who's here to say just this:

"This world is just so dysfunkt,

So dare I make a list?

Lines of people waiting there,

Walking into death,

Acting like they give no care,

Denying their breath,

Oh, walking into this life,

I can say without a doubt,

I'd rather tainted knife,

Than be the living devout.

So try to escape this place,

If you can run all night and day,

We all see the look on your face,

But life has nothing to say."

"