I was born into a world where flames fell from the sky.

I feel like, sometimes, we could benefit from a life that we have fight to survive to keep the privileges we have instead of being spoofed safety and comfort wherein the only things we fear are diseases created of our own devices and losing someone to age.

Where are the carnivorous dinosaurs to chase us around while we hide and shit ourselves?

Shoot first. Ask questions later.

I think we gave that up with covered wagons.

I'm getting to that stage where all I can see through paranoid eyes is dishonesty. And all I can do is let the negativity flood in and swirl around me.

Maybe this is all I've been for so long that there's really no point in fighting it. Trying to be the best person never quite works out, even when you stay the course despite being in the dust of crumbling dreams.

I never bother to care until it's pointless. And people tend to see what they want, despite what the truth is.

I find people are more often not what they seem to be.

I feel content absorbing myself in work. And by work, I mean writing and planning out comic book pages.

Is it strange to be more of oneself while outside of yourself?

And I randomly find one thing rolling around in my head from some book I read somewhere: "Go then! There are other worlds than this!"

I feel like it defines myself in a way. I wasn't quite made for the tangible things.

I think I hate horoscopes. Just when I think they're talking to me, I understand nothing of the reading for today.

Stupid astrology.