Nothing, really. Nothing at all.
The wasted reasons, repeated to the point of useless meaning. The tiredness, the stress, the same old vocabulary replayed over and over, making me and everyone else go nuts. Simply nuts.
The lack of practice in writing skills -- the evidence in front of my eyes.
What is funny about this? Perhaps is the fact that I am using acquired words. Or the fact that I have unveiled the lies in the most extreme post colonialist fashion. And yet, my actions are not validated because of the subject and the freedom in place do not compliment, but rather exhilarate each other.
Perhaps the funny part has to do with quitting in general. Quitting smoking, quitting acid trips. Quitting affections and quitting liberalism. Quitting the quitters. Of course, quitting the family and responsibilities come along. Wonder what life would be like in the realm of those who can only quit the action of leaving. Of giving up. Of everything else that conforms, consists and compliments the act of leaving something behind. Forever.
For sure there's got to be something funny about my grammar and my anger coming together in these guttural expressions.
Maybe the funny part is that I do not enjoy a single moment of the thousand hundred that come embedded in these reflections. The funny, the irony lays on the oxymoron: a cathartic expression that perpetuates the feelings which catalyzed this experience. An ouroboros: a snake biting it's own tail.
A mouthful, that is certainly out of discussion.
Aggression, yes, that's it. That's what's funny about this whole thing. That there's so much aggression to be released and the only channel out is through a mouthful of nonsensical sentences. Violent, indeed.