On Remorse [or rather the lack thereof].

I dreamt of a cat clutched to my ear. A positive omen says the dream book. I dreamt, or was haunted by [when considered in terms of "again"], 3 infidelities. They felt so marvelously good. They were all my friends. All male. All well-equipped. It felt awesome to be so promiscuous... I-dont-care-about-anything mode continues. I am stiff bored and tired of these solitude games. I feel so aroused lately [owing to the obvious, nevertheless, it does not change the fact that I am and... it feels good. only that I had an outlet to free my roaring emotions...]. And what now? My silk blouse smells like him. No remorse. The magical feature of words to convey senses. Implicitly. There are no words to describe it. There were many thoughts amassing in my head. There were many a introductions to this post as I was wondering how to embark on some issues. The ridiculous anarcho-libero-demo-god-knows-what-else missions of yours. And you are so hell bent on them it calls for admiration. The last living soul has just ceased to be who she used to be. The last living soul has just abandoned the last bastion of cajolery abandoned.