Been in St. Petersburg for 5 months, thinking about moving to Edmonton, AB

Bored as fuck in Bradenton. I can't wait to start hockey already... Fuck sticks.

Places I'd like to live, not just see: Dublin, Ireland; Dresden, Germany; St. Petersburg, Russia; Quantico, Virginia (USA); Newfoundland, Canada.

Places I'd like to commit arsony: Every church, temple, mosque, etc. on the planet; McDonalds (I figure one will suffice since they're more abundant & therefore harder to exterminate than churches); Burning Man (I just want to start the fire early & ride off into the sunset whilst being chased by hippies).

Places I want to have sex: An airplane (airborne & stationary just for kicks); a submarine (how many people do you know that have done the dirty inside of a submarine?); an elevator, an escalator, inside of a church, a grocery store, a Costco (preferably atop of one of the large shelves, where in which I could build a sort of "sex fortress"); inside of the shark tunnel at sea world (yea I know, genius.).

That concludes today's blog about nothing important.

Respectfully,
The Hessian.

Currently battling with a creativity block, thinking about getting back into oil painting.

I'm moving back FL in October, then Virginia, New Hamphire, possibly Germany. All in the name of happiness (aka: Desgning weaponry).

Lots of people in Utah are pissed that I'm moving again, but I need to be my own person. I want to be successful at what I love & have an interest for. My ultimate goal is to become a defense engineer at Rheinmetall in Germany.

I have only these hands to propell me.

I've started straight razor shaving; I can't believe I've been using disposables for so long. I'm also contemplating moving back to FL.

Might move to Louisianna in a bit, I could use a change.

Ps-phone sex commercials are as annoying as they are sad.

Roommate just found infiltrate.destroy.rebuild, fuck yeah.

New favorite band album, self titled "Them Crooked Crows". The band consists of 3 members; Josh Hommes, Dave Grohl & John Paul Jones.

"My cock does all the talking, my mouth now just for lies."-The Black Dahlia Murder. I've lived like this since puberty, as if all of my goals, aspirations & motives disentegrate once I see or think about a piece of ass. It's always difficult to explain my desires without sounding like a perverted playboy; I'm just a sadist with an urge that cripples his focus.

Help would be pleasant, an assistant if you will. Someone to pass the time with while I navigate this shit hole called Earth. Someone to motivate me & give me praise for the things I do. A person that excepts my attributes & caresses my faults. Delusions of grandure, possibly.

This shell is strong, albeit barely mist inside.