This is going to be kind of like a journal entry. I never keep a journal,
but I feel like doing it, so I'm going to do it. It's like, the first step in a
long line of many, mini steps. Almost ready. I feel like I should stretch
out before I start. Ballistic. You know, like a fighter or something.
Okay. Here I go.

Right now I'm stuck in this little bubble. I got put here by some trouble
just a few years ago. Man, it was ****** up ****, like the most ****** up I've ever been in. Life, as they say, got the best of me. **** came first, then beer all day er'day, spending my living living with some ****** up ***** who's bad with money. We matched 'cause I'm ****** up. I ****** up, 'cause I shut up. First time lifestyle collaborator, so it was like, man what-am-uh-gonna-say? I feel love and I've been conditioned to just ride that **** with pride on your ****. Don't tell me I don't know what I want man. I've got my head on straight. Don't hate. Haters can't appreciate romance, bro. Come back when you learn that, yo. I don't blame the drugs, so I kept 'em when we left together, but
in different directions. Live-in gone. Foundation rot. Suspension shot.
****! **** **** ****! I hit ground with my teeth. Instead of asking
for help when it was needed I took help that kept me breathing
till I could ***** my head on almost too many terrible months in
the future which I never thought I would see in fruition, and I admit
in volition that (cough) (cough) I almost lost myself totally, ******* stripped of the holy one and only. One and only.

We've. Received. Bad vibes.

So now there's nearly nothing to my name unless you count the
meter it retains. But I've got flies in my pocket that I sprinkle
for pepper in my popcorn bag. There's no space for me here but
there's vacancy in the matrix. And I see the signs lit up. Being
singular not enough? I'd rather be rich and ubiquitous than poor
and bored while I whittle the days away, feeding my head with
whatever's left from original message I received. I've opened that **** and I tried it on for 23, pressed to impress but it wasn't me.
Listen when I say it, 'cause I'm serious, now that my name is
worthless what could it hurt to burn some synapses and knight
myself? After all I don't count on being rescued from this hell.
What's my name? Anything will do. But it's got to be very memorable
and cool. How should I glow when I get outta this cocoon? Take
it to the Max. Normal won't do, 'cause it's gotta be catchy for the
TV and YouTube. I won't be a copycat, no, never. It's just gonna be the
me that I've eternally received only under my belt, tight to the
extreme.

Like. The lost. Before.