why is it always the middle of the night where think it necissary to continue the existence of my digital me. the solemn avatar that looks just like me. if i didnt survive, he would still be he. and the when the when the world ended we, with our souls full of holes and the top right corner full of gold would go....
and drop maybe, some individuality, yet copied from me, and printed on to he, that little avatar who looks just like me. the web where we both inadvertantly
trek, the hell censored into heck. we would surf, together. and maybe better, get some more gold.
yet flop, into that little hole we all created, the society build on characters representing us, or our loved ones not hated, or our imagination of us once shaded, now faded, into the darkness
so the otaku took the flier, or watched anime on the wire, and for a moment it seemed that, we only looked to Gaia. To help us, express us, determine our fandom, where we exchange art and rhetoric forums that became random.
so it became sold, anime expression free from hold, where we dont pay to play, yet avatars and personalities mold. And yet, lo and behold. we're all searching for gold...and donations would be welcome.
View User's Journal
The journal of the digital me...
this journal is nothing more than cyberspace. data. infinite. though the world itself has become surf, surf, surf, surf, surf, buy. we must interact though like friends or confidants. because in the end the only way i found this site was because i wa