Yes, it was I who accidentally shorted it.
I won’t blame China this time.

But I never expected such an explosive reaction just 2 minutes after waking up.
I ended up in the shower trying to run away from the crazy reactions.

Smoke everywhere. Don’t breathe.
So much chaos, so much heat for such a small thing.

Lesson learnt.
I hate exploding batteries.
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They were beautiful… in a way.
But they reacted like I was dead.

Meaning, they didn’t react at all.
What was that?

I didn’t think that extraordinary longevity could be confused with aloofness.
But there they were…
And they weren’t pretty.

I hate those dreams of blue turtles.
The toad was alright.
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I shouldn’t have opened that door.
Those weren’t ever my subconscious fears.

I thought I could adapt to anything new,
that my strenght was to be able to endure any possible change.
But in the end nobody is a real hero.

That doesn’t mean that I didn’t know my fears…
I just don’t want to have new fears,
events and shapes that I never thought I could fear.

I hate fearing what it is on the other side.
I hate what it is on the other side.
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Yeah it probably wasn’t the most fitting,
but it was what a drum throne wants.

Was it just too far from what it was supposed to be,
or too soft a material?

The process wasn’t stopped.
And the chair kept falling.

I hate broken threads.
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Good for nothing.
How traffic can be shallow…
how shallow can traffic be.

Asking themselves for the next scandal,
buying into the machinery of lies and devotion.

Judge a person by their acts,
not their colorfully printed pages.

I hate TMZ tours.
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Heading towards a meeting, the 101 is a nightmare again.
I hate the freaking traffic. But this case is really, really bad.

Why?
Oh, this time wasn’t a pointless reason nor an accident.
It was the hundredth anniversary of the Armenian holocaust.
Anniversary sounds weird for such a massacre.

I hate that I couldn’t go past the Armenian genocide (parade).
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I was dragged.
I don’t even want to be here.
I was lied to.

She said 1.20. It’s 1.15.
What a crappy exchange rate.
And everything’s made in… guess.

I can’t see the point of buying gifts
made thousands of miles away
just with a stamped logo of Niagara.

What are you taking?
What do those items really have to do with that place?
What’s their real value?

I hate that kind of gift shops.
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I know god gave you a jetpack,
but there’s no reason to do that over me.

We call it number two- but birds have just one.

I am glad that you ended up being turned into stone,
but are those peebles getting out of your butt now?

I hate gliding angels.
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