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Deliberate derangement of all the senses. —
It was probably nothing but it felt like the world.

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I have already said my goodbyes to this land's cheerless marches. Now it's time for me to go. Go on a long trip with no coming back. But 'go where' is the actual question.

'Non, je ne regrette rien' is the utter opposite of my life. However, the one regret above all others is not being a poet. And by all means I couldn't become one. You are born and you die a poet. It is not possible to wake up one day and just write poetry. You will never become a true poet. Not if it isn't a part of psyche. I can feel that it surely isn't in mine.

The desperate attempt to stop myself from being destroyed by madness is writing prose. The only reason why I create so many outrageous characters is a need to be constantly assured that I am not the only conscious being.

Apart from that my name is Emma and I have zero life skills.

I listen to paradoxical music, watch films with gays in them, study journalism (not like I care but one must do something to keep parents happy), and cry over handsome men with tattoos and cigarettes. So much for a nihilistic writer.

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