The world did not come to an abrasive end, nor did I even hear or see anything out of the ordinary on the Eve of 2000. 

Some drunken sod accidentally shot their own dog by shooting into the air. Little mishaps here and there, but nothing to be proud of. Even though someone stole a buttload of explosives not far from where I reside. 

We can go back to mourning the same miserable mundanity that we always do. 

Hillary can make her plans. Letterman can fuck himself. 

And I, I can do what pleases me. I can breathe, or choke or continue to think of nothing to say when it matters most.

Like..."don't come back. nothing personal. it's just that i really don't like you anymore. i'm tired of the bullshit and i'm tired of *you* and i don't even want to hear what grand excuse you had, you had a responsibility and deliberately ignored it. you fucked me, again. so fuck you. "

Like..."glad to hear you finally came around to kiss a little ass. i was afraid i was going to have to do it myself. it matters not. i don't care what you do, or what you want. it just won't involve me anymore. you came to your fucked up conclusions, accused me of a load of shit, and couldn't even say it to my face, it had to come out on accident. and when you had to face the truth, you couldn't do that either. don't have the balls to face me, don't have to balls to acknowledge when i call you on your shit, so forget it. i don't play fucked games like that. "

Like..." i'm sorry. i still have a long ways to go. forever it seems, and when it finally comes, it will be too late. i do the best i can when i am conscious of my own undoing and see that there's a chance."

I foresee in a momentous delusion of grandeur that the trouble will come the next new year. Because so many people believe the Millennium doesn't start until 2001, so then it waits until then to jump out and fuck you in the drive thru.

I have given up my hold on caring. I will dance freely and I will welcome the pain again. I will find my grave and rebury myself. Freedom in self slavery. A mockery of myself and irony.

I've dreamt of hell again. Hell probably knows it already. It would arouse me to think so.

What waits for you now when your faith is shaken? Can't trust your own god, or yourself. What will it be now? I'm sure you'll think of something.

Time for the purifying.