Friday, June 15, 2007

There is the Calvin that plays games and wins most of them. He absolutely loves drinking coke, drawing, and can shoot the air rifle something cruel. You may know him for his ruthless efficiency, online and off. Let us call this person A.

There is also the half of me that prods my first half in the early hours of the morning. He makes me remember everything I regret. Every unpleasant memory, every ounce of melancholy. This is person B.

And this is what A says to B.

Are you sad? Having problems? Is the world getting you down? Need advice, help or just a sympathetic ear?

Well, fuck your shit. Tell me about any problems you might be having, all your fears and concerns. Tell me all about your troubles and woes.

Then I'll give you no sympathy what so ever. You won't get any advice, pity, or compassion. Just sweet, sweet apathy.

Fuck. Your. Shit.

And that's why emo Calvin doesn't exist. He gave up a long time ago.