Gayest... entry... ever!

The journals and communities on my flist are various things to me. Some are novels. Some are paintings, or portraits, or photographs. Some are films -- 70mm, 35mm, and 8mm, too. Some could be videos but none are DVDs.

LiveJournal is heroin. No, it's opium. I sit on my office chair or recline on my couch and silky white LJ smoke drifts langorously out of my nostrils. To read my flist I should have to creep down flights of stone steps. It should only be read in dank back rooms. Low-ceilinged rooms illuminated by smoking whale oil lamps and the screens of laptops.

What the flipping fuck am I talking about? I should be sent to the gay old folks home immediately.
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