Diary of a Sinus Virus

I've done some ridiculous shit in my time, some of it failed, some of it succeeded but all of it has defined me. Demagogues, valedictorians, and English teachers (want you to) all start speeches like this. You know why I can be pretentious? Because no one will read this. In fact go away, don't dare read any further. My soul has uprooted me like streaks on my palm, once I sought out a palm reader but I realized I sought out the shade of a palm tree cause I'm pale from weathering but the weather has me feeling a redness hot like coals cause I'm red from sunburn or the redness of the giant that the sun will evolve to. Like some sort of concoction of sweat I stand on the precipice but precipitate the discussion and after all this, a mouthful, we're still talking about the weather, and if we began talking about the weather with it as a conversational topic with it we'll finish. It's about reducing a person to an object, and then taking that object and reducing it to the first dimension, so that it can't walk across the page. I can't talk to people. So I'll say it's quite warm out and what a nice day because it is easy and I'm comfortable. I think I've found a way for us to stop time and all we have to do is press some buttons and in the spaces, in the curves we find our moves. We were taught that repetition was valued in our words, but as we do our work, what does repetition do for our souls. Starting sweeping sentences the same way so that I can connect to you, so I'll omit the pronouns so that we can sweep away the pretenses. Holy shit. How long has this paragraph gone on for. Where is his point? And yet you're still here, some of you. Yet I think we're starting to feel the strain. Collectively.