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  • Listening to: Rage Against the Machine ._.
  • Reading: A Clockwork Orange ._.
  • Watching: Brain matter splatter against the computer. ._.
  • Playing: Digital Devil Saga/Devil Survivor 2 ._.
  • Eating: The motes of dust that cake my lungs .-.
  • Drinking: My saliva c:
Been thinking lately 'bout shit. A lot of shit, actually (big, steaming piles of it -- motherfucking mountains, even), but journals are meant to be constructive. But, regardless. ._.

Been thinking about love -- especially now that I'm writing a newspaper article on it. More its definition than anything (and god forbid somebody links to WHAT IS LOVE). There's the incredibly generic shit like "when you truly love and cherish your time with this person, and want nothing more than to make them happy," which I got from my brother.
"A passionate and unbreakable fondness for someone. Which, most of the time, sucks ass, but is real contrary to popular belief," from 'nother friend.
And modern conceptions (god I love that term) render love as nonexistent, or perhaps a tool used by conversely "wicked" people. The former of which, for the most part, is a (if I do say so myself) ludicrous belief held by brooding teenagers -- which I won't delve into at this time, for the sake of the topic at hand.
And of course "SEX SEX SEX WHOO". ._.

So, what the fuck. I seriously began taking into consideration, well, shit -- that is, vague and mildly sporadic components that seem like they'd be important -- in order to reach a tangible definition. For me, anyway. And lo and behold. I found it, evidently. So I may as well 'splay it here for future reference. I'll try and keep it as melodrama-free as possible. ._.
H'okay, so, like. Here it goes:

Love's a mere label, and nothing more; something we blindly describe actions and words as, though their true intentions may be entirely different -- self-serving, demeaning, whatever. I'd wager a lot of people who've been deceived can testify to this themselves, especially in this world as it is, poisoned by society's ideals. But that's besides the point.
Humans are, as you know, born with free will -- not that they use it to their full potential. And throughout their upbringing and even in adulthood they're exposed to various cultures (though it can be agreed upon that they're more sheltered in childhood) -- other people's customs, traditions, ideals (a barren lack of truth, at that), and opinions. Now that's all fine and dandy. They'll be continuously shaped and molded to the tune of these cultures, no matter how otherworldly or immoral you make them out to be. They'll take up their own, and begin to develop a unique little spin that caters to their own selfish desires. My point is, humanity is too far gone in the realm of subjectivity to recognize "true" love. So, there are too many wild factors for me (and you and so on), a human being, to comprehend or see what true love is -- which basically defeats the entire purpose of writing about this matter, let alone doing anything else, but who gives a fuck.
And a final point: It exists, make no mistake. Just as lies dominate the spoken and written word -- and can't possibly have a physical form -- oftentimes people view actions and detect what they call love. Ergo, with that logic, as long as you're truly alive as a human being love will always exist in the flesh.
That's a general gist, anyway. ._.

So enlighten me, here -- what's your definition of love (there is a comments section -- might as well abuse it till it bleeds from the fucking cunt)? ._.

Maybe I should make, like, an official series of rants/pseudo-philosophical questions. ._.
Maybe I should've posted this on another site where I have more repertoire for the sake of more constructive (or just more in general) answers. ._.
Maybe it's a bit too late for contemplating on such. ._.
  • Listening to: Nine Inch Nails. ._.
  • Reading: The Book of Life (1.5/5 fuck that shit)
  • Watching: Bleach and Soul Eater. ._.
  • Playing: Pokemon Y. ._.
  • Eating: Fruit salad. Yummy yummy, motherfucker. ._.
  • Drinking: The wine that inspires the wrath of God. ._.
Welcome to my space church. First fucking day here, on DA. Or half a day, whatever works. The beginning of the next three or so fucking years of cleansing by fire, if you ask me. At least until I get sick and tired of it all. ._.

The name's Unsane, if you haven't caught on. Believe it or not, the entire purpose of my existence (god's existence, for all you should care right now, considering you're so doggedly scarfing each bit of text on this very page ;D) is to dump every known poem, article, and otherwise story onto here to not only open up some space, but for pure organizational purposes (apparently, god's documentary files are cluttered as all fuck with every anecdote detailing every pitiful existence, like, ever). And hopefully, y'know, you'll get a kick out of reading 'em. ._.

So I'll begin scavenging my binder for every noteworthy piece so far. I know of one story about martyrdom (affectionately called A Poem), another about an infected gash that slowly works its way in (ravishing), and probably one more about life after death, or lack thereof. You could call it a sort of purge. ._.

Oh, right. Expect some more on an even grander scale -- actual novels. Mind you, they'll be divided by chapter for your convenience. ._.

So, yeah. Gather demons, and come again. Go crack a smile and cut your mouth, and drown in alcohol. Or cut an angel's hair and baby's breath. Jump off a bridge, for all I care. See ya. ._.