Strained Cremaster

I don't know what this is supposed to do but I am treating this "blog" like a journal. I don't care if it is public. Anyone who sees it should feel like an intruder. Get out! Leave! I am not claiming to be a poet or a writer. Lately, I have been living at some incompetent level of consciousness. I don't care what someone reads or thinks, just know that I am not declaring any of these literary pieces. This is for myself, a personal stream of consciousness I can reflect on to better myself. Is all this living just dying? The paradox of life. I wish I was a nigger or a faggot, maybe I am both and I just don't know it yet.