"Heaven's not a place that you go when you die, it's that moment in life when you actually feel alive"

"The time has come," the Guille said,
"To talk of many things:
of love - and pain - and jealousy -
relationships - and flings -
and why I have to cut myself -
and to my life, still cling."

Any emo moments I've had so far have been completely of my own design, which I suppose is the case with most every emo moment had by anyone in my age group with access to a computer. What have we really to complain about? Given that we have a computer from where we can give voice to our whinings, one can assume that we also have shelter, food, and all the lesser necessities that one usually acquires before having access to a PC. Everything else in life is fairly laughable.

I cannot think of a single thing to be truly emo about. The average emo frets about relationships, which at this point in one's life don't last all that long and aren't very fulfilling in the first place. I've yet to find a person good enough to want to dedicate myself to fully (or even in part, for that matter), and the chances of that person materializing in my life are slim to none. Is it because I'm incredibly picky or because everyone in the world is so utterly worthless? I'm inclined to believe it's the latter.

I've been told, by more than one source on more than one occasion, that my writings are entirely too egotistical in nature.

"All you ever talk about," she said to me, "is yourself. Why not talk about something else once in a while?" I have since come to the conclusion that she is a jealous cunt, angry because I didn't talk about her. What can I say? I'm infinitely more fascinating than she could ever be -- and I'm willing to bet most everyone would agree with me.

But I digress, as I always do. I've nothing to be emo about, and yet I sit here pondering my existence and getting all the while more depressed.

Okay, I give up. It's tough enough to try and write like maybe you would write if you were to write like me, but adding "emo you" into the mix takes altogether too much effort. I'm fairly sure you're unable to do emo properly anyway. You wouldn't give justice to the poetic beauty of slitting oneself and bleeding almost to death before tying it off with a tourniquet.
That description sounds slightly absurd, does it not? As is the lifestyle, if it can even be called that.

It's funny how one can sit down to write and have all thoughts and feelings wiped from their mind as soon as their fingers touch the keys, or pen touches paper, or whatever medium of communication one prefers. It's a conscious effort by whatever higher powers may exist to make all writers in the world seem thoroughly incompetent (which, in the majority of cases, isn't very hard to do).

I find it amusing that after so many years of trying, women still cannot understand why it is impossible to have a truly platonic relationship with a man. Men think of women-friends on a variety of levels. Level number one refers to the women who they have already fucked, and may possibly fuck again. This automatically negates any platonic aspect of the relationship. Level 2 is women who are fuckable. Men will always lust after level 2 women, even if it's secretly and there's no chance in hell it'll ever happen. Level three women are those that are below the acceptable level on the hot scale. Men do not lust after level 3 women, and it is quite possible for the platonic aspect to happen with level 3 women. ...Given, of course, that the woman doesn't develop lustful thoughts for the male. This will happen, of course, because women like to ruin it when they have it good. They're flaky that way.

Said one thousand times
Hearts burning with it inside
So why does it die?