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Voices From The Stoned

This is my voice. This is how I used to write before the intense University training (which I mostly skipped), and the dedicated mentoring (which I mostly didn't understand). Apparently, this is still how I write.
Of course, I am fully aware of the problems in my writing style. Hell, it even pisses me off when I read these crappy pieces back after a few days. Because I should know better.

But I don't. Because, unfortunately, I'm not perfect.

Right now, I should be happy to even have a voice at all.

I'm a lot F'd up in the head. When I'm good, I'm really really good. But most of the time, I'm this. And because part of my hates what another part of me writes—my confidence packed up, booked a flight, went straight back home, and joined the rebel militia without any intention of ever coming back down from the boondocks.

If anyone sees him anywhere in Metro Manila, please tell him I need my skinny jeans back.

I have no idea what I'm talking about. Everybody in the internet says that if you're a writer, you write. Even just for 30 minutes. Even if you don't make sense.

Well there you go. My 30 minutes is up. I'm going to eat dinner now and go to sleep.

"Subsisting in an Earth worth wreathing?!" What the hell does that mean? No, I wasn't stoned when I wrote this sh!t. That's what's scary. 

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