Insert Rant Here:

Why is it when you're depressed all of the little things that people do suddenly become the big things that get to you?

The little snide comments. The brush-offs. The strange looks that somebody who you thought you were atleast friends with gives you. The times you were let down. The times you feel worthless. Ignored. When somebody smashes your happiness without a second thought, or even a glance, to see what it did to you.

This entire day has been like that for me. Usually I'm the silly person who tries to make jokes to get a smile out of somebody. Nobody smiled today. One person was angry and didn't want to talk to anybody. Another just didn't even acknowledge my existence (and we were the only ones there.) Then to come home to see that nobody's happy there either. And to make things worse, I become the punch line to every stupid, degrading joke they can think of. Everybody all at once now! Let's make sure Heather has no shred of dignity left after this!

It's hard to take sometimes. I mean, sure, it's really easy to make fun of me. I accept this with all humility. And I can take a joke. But I can't take fifty. In making a joke, there's a line that crosses "Just Kidding". And that line is when the one joke becomes another, and another, and one more...etc.

Nobody likes to be the butt of the joke, I suppose.

The moral of the story is this: If you're the kind of person who finds themselves saying, "Hey! It was just a joke! Can't you take a joke?" Know when to lay off. Because you've probably just gone too far. Take the hint.

From the "jilted and feeling bitter about it" dept.
It feels like this feeling isn't going away. Not for a while at least. I'm starting to talk to myself now. I feel like no one wants to listen, but in truth I just don't allow it. Knowing the truth and changing the truth are two separate matters in their own right. I give my all, and all I want to take control of my life again, but I can't, simply because I can't handle it. I guess its hard to understand, maybe harder to swallow, that I'm not man enough to be the man I want to become.

I shrug at the thought, yet I can't really do much about it. I'm as much of a whiner as the next person. I take a deep breath, and exhale slowly. Then I start thinking once again, and slowly contemplate life's little matters.

A UBC final skipped again today. Of course I don't go but I leave my house as if I did. I lied. What else can I do? Face the truth? Finally, I understand how sniveling I can be. So I leave my house and go to the Bridgeport McDonald's. After their tasty extra value meal, I get a phone call. Hello. "Hey." I shudder. The conversation gets nowhere and I just get more frustrated, only to discover her at my house. A pleasure and a pain all in one, a person that I wish to let go but cannot. I nod slowly, hoping that she doesn't see, and she runs and hugs me. Holding back, I slowly move towards the door, with her holding onto my left wrist. I don't say much, actually, nothing, on the way up to the third floor. I twist the key, and enter inside. She follows behind me. I take off my shoes, and in turn, she does as well. I hide them just in case someone comes home. I'm paranoid. I always thought that when it comes to her, no one must meet her but me. She's always been mine, and mine alone.

We talk, but after a while, I get fed up with the topic and go take a nap. I wasn't very courteous but I had to sleep or I would say something I would regret. Not the act of a gentleman but I hope noble enough. I start my slumber quickly, and for once, fall asleep quickly. Maybe its because I'm tired. But I think its because she was embracing me while I slept. I loved it but knew better. But couldn't handle it anymore. Slowly, I descended to sleep.

A while later, I hear the locked door creaking. At first, I thought that my sister came home, and opened the door, but I realized that the door is locked from the inside. I slowly walk down the hallway, and she was just coming back inside. I guess I missed her already. Peculiar. I left the scandisk on. Why not anymore? Then MrFurious tells me that he knows she's here. Infuriated, I don't say much and I go back inside the room. I can't scream, as my sister was actually home. She followed quickly, and grasps my hand. No words were exchanged but the message was clear. I felt violated, abused, and invaded. I speak no more. She gave me a gentle kiss, and explained. I listened intently, as I always have. She could tell me that the world was coming to an end, but only through her voice could it have meaning. How pathetic. I hide under my blanket and go back to sleep.

Bleep. The alarm goes off. Right in the middle of a nice nightmare too. Time to get ready for work. She wasn't there anymore. I miss her already. I'm such a fool. Always a fool and nothing more. As I iron my Ikea uniform, I could still smell her perfume on my shirt. I think slowly, and surely. I head off to work before I start crying. I've been listening to too much damn Brian McKnight.

Work was a breeze but boring as hell. Nothing else much happens at work. Answer dumb questions. Clean up messes people are too lazy to clean themselves. But it okay. Its retail. What else can I do? People start making fun of the way that I'm not wearing glasses. It annoyed the stuffing out of me but thats okay. I'll get them while they're sleeping. Or in the parking lot. With my car.

I come home. I hear noises, voices and television. Damn CSI. I hate that bloody show. An hour later, I go out for my walk. I was gonna drown my sorrows in a one liter bottle of chocolate milk. But I left my wallet at home. Stupidity has hit me once again. Then I meet with MrFurious and his buddy. We go to the arcade and pool. While playing, I get a phone call. I told her to call me back later but even now, she still hasn't. I guess I scared her off. Or maybe its my phone breath.

Then home I go. Winamp on, playing "Purest of Pain" by Son By Four. I decided to play some Starcraft. After a long game dominated by Carriers and Nuclear Missiles, I get off Battlenet. The whole time, I was on the phone, trying to make it seem like I'm trying to play. I was, but to no avail. Now I'm here, again.

Bring me back my fantasy. It repeats back and forth in my mind. I quickly take a deep breath outside, smelling that smell that you can only get after spring rain. The air that I breathe, invigorating, caused me to close my eyes. I remember the song, even in spanish. I guess taking spanish in high school is good. I play it in my mind, along with an image. Of her. Why do I torture myself so? I don't know. With the wind blowing towards the east, I slowly close the window, and step back into the darkness.

I fought it as hard as I could and I won. I fought temptation and logic won. But why does it feel like I lost? It hurts so deeply, like a knife wound. Words spoken today echoed in my mind. "Forever". "Eternity". "Love". I try to let go but I can't. How does one take away part of life that is imbedded there? No longer is life simple, nor can it be considered content by my mind. I try not to let it so, but I have no choice. Here, in the darkness, alone, I hold my hands together and whisper gentle words. I pray, slowly, hoping that someone will listen. If they won't listen out of kindness, let them listen out of pity. I no longer know the difference.

You made the dark go away for today, even for a moment. I can't be in the light for long, as you can't stay in the dark as well. Have no fear. When the time comes, there will be no longer any darkness or light. There will simply be a purgatory, where neither happiness nor sadness exist. Hold out your hand. I will find you. Trust me.
The past 24 hours of my life have been interesting, at least to me.

A classmate of mine was shot and killed during his spring break down in Florida. He was mugged for $7. When the assailant decided $7 wasn't enough, he pegged my classmate between the eyes. Within a day, my classmate was dead, 37 school days short of graduation.

Yesterday, I ran to Point State Park from the Three Rivers Rowing Association boathouse for crew. Afterwards, some genius decided to insult our coach, our team, and our sport, before being quitting the team and threatening our coach. I can't say that I'm mad. I'm actually happy that this girl left. One day, she had to "leave crew early" to "go to work." When I left after the workout was over, I saw my teammate in Burger King. All I have to say is, Good Riddence.

I was accepted to Carnegie Mellon University, specifically the Carnegie Institute of Technology. Also, I got a letter from the Westinghouse Science Honors Institute telling me that I didn't do great on a test I had taken two months ago.

Stupid stupid stupid. I seem to have successfully turned the strange urge I had to throw the phone out the window today into the strange urge to respond to the advances of one of my least favorite people in the world. It wouldn't be the first time. I'm good at the whole burning hatred/ fiery passion switchover.

But tonight was different. More anger. The guy I've been seeing with the mad-scientist curly hair like mine ran away when I tried to kiss him and hasn't called in four days. And after a nice round of snuggling, too. I can't deal with another repressed introvert just waiting to be discovered. I'm sick of it. In my opinion, shyness is just a cowardly excuse for attention. Sorry. I didn't mean that. It's the anger talking. And the rum.

So tonight was my way of getting back at the mad scientist. I hope he saw me. And I hope it hurt. Because I'm fragile too, dammit, and I don't need another confused plea for affection veiled behind a cold, "misunderstood" surface. What I really need is a good round of lego and a hot bath.

Today is Friday, April 13th.
Today is Friday the 13th.
Today is Good Friday.
Today is also my birthday.
My 20th birthday.

Today, the forces of good and the forces of evil lock in mortal combat over my soul. Who will win? Which side shall emerge victorious?

This is a question I have long pondered. Each year, around my birthday, something has always gone wrong. I received a speeding ticket the day before my 18th birthday. I got a traffic violation, for making a left turn where an official sign designated right turn only, 10 days before my 17th birthday. My birthday is also 2 days prior to Tax Day, so every year, I am screwed. This year, to the tune of 286 dollars. Not much, granted, but more than I wanted to pay, and this was money I was going to use for a nice, bright, shiny and new AMD K7 1.333 Ghz processor.

This year, I am going away. I will be gone the entire weekend. Literally, gone. I will be completely disconnected from the world I know. My computer will remain on, but I will not touch a keyboard while I am gone. I am leaving my cell phone at home. If, for some reason, my car breaks down… I will work it out the old fashioned way, instead of being lazy, and sitting on my ass, in my car, waiting for the AAA guy to hurry up and get himself there. No one knows the number to the house I will be sleeping in, so contacting me is useless. I may watch a movie, but only if I make it to a drive-in. The TV shall remain silent the entire weekend. I am "exiting" the matrix, disconnecting my brain from its hardline to my life.

I am hoping this will work. Perhaps I will die in a tragic accident on the way there or maybe on the way home. Maybe I'll get run over by a train. Maybe I won’t even wake up tomorrow. Maybe a giant trout, let loose for the first day of trout season will jump out of a nearby stream and swallow me whole. Anything is possible. Maybe this year is the beginning of the end or the end of the beginning or just somewhere between the two. Maybe I'll take along my bike as well, and completely give up the use of my car, and then peddle my way home, join one of the Amish sects, and marry that beautiful girl I pray to see whenever I'm on her ice route. Or, maybe, this weekend will pass like any other - completely uneventful. I surely hope so.

I will let you know.

Last week, a very attractive 20 year-old woman was flirting with me. In case you don't know, I'm a happily married 37 year-old man. She invited me to a party she's attending tonight.

I just assumed she was harmlessly flirting with some geezer at the meeting we were attending. It turns out she has a thing for older men, and only dates the over-30 crowd. I talked to my wife about her (before I knew the young woman was not just making the old guy feel younger). My wife said I should go to the party, since several of my pals will be there. Later, when I told my wife about her dating older guys, she still felt I should go.

I must say I am tempted, I won't lie about it. I've decided not to go to the party. The very attractive person I was flirting with is only 6 years older than my oldest daughter. By the by, I flirt with everyone, but I know where my center and heart is - with my wife. The last thing I need is a mid-life crisis with a hot 20 year-old who's willing and able. So, those of you who at least look older, be on the lookout for a pretty curly-topped redhead.

still before breakfast, and one nasty letter to a conceited preacher out of the way already. i have to confess, i'm not even a christian, however, i firmly believe that a person should take the precepts in their religious texts seriously. i know i prolly ought not to copy-paste, but i just can't resist sharing this one:

I was reading the Easter issue of Connection, and I saw the article in the back about the church with a Starbucks in it. Now, i don't know about you, but I find that to be patently offensive. Allow me to quote Matthew 21:12-13

12 And Jesus entered the temple of God and drove out all who sold and bought in the temple, and he overturned the tables of the money-changers and the seats of those who sold pigeons.
13 He said to them "It is written, 'My house shall be called a house of prayer'; but you make it a den of robbers."

From a strictly Christian perspective, one has to wonder how any church could agree to have a corporate conglomerate serving coffee on their premises, especially in the same building in which worship is performed. I understand you have also undertaken to have a coffeeshop, but i have come to understand that it is not attatched to the worship building. If I am incorrect regarding the location, perhaps it is time to give some thought to how far the 'house of prayer' extends. Is it the room with the chapel? Is it just the nave? Is it the whole building?

Honestly, though, our congregation would like to know what you think.

I couldn't help it. honest, doc, i plead insanity. of course,pastor skip was just begging to be reamed. for one, he quotes my favourite bible passage incorrectly in his television ads. yeah, i know, different versions print different things, but i checked; i can't find *one* that agrees with him. *shrug* i guess that's enough wackiness for now.

crap. it's friday, isn't it. friday the 13th...and boy, does it feel like it.

i have been unable to reach frater shinma today. his connect has been idle for 10hrs, 52min. i fear he is in the hospital again. god damn me. i should have been watching him more closely. kinda shoulda sorta in that lemonheads song...but i was at work, for chrissake! by the time i got home, he was gone. no note, no email, no memo on the answering machine...and there isn't a damn thing to do but wait. almost funny how hollow and impotent i get to feel, having been cut out of the loop...i wonder if he knows that i love him. the youngest should never be the first to go...

Oh my, what a day. Today I was there, sitting in a meeting, asking other people what date it is today, and o horror, what a creepy message to hear, today it is Friday the 13th. Next, the person telling me the date, also told me he had a black cat, just to make things even worse.

But then, somehow, luck was on my side ! Oh joy, it seems that after all, even when a lot of things are definitely wrong, luck is there to make my day, even a "Friday the 13th" kind of day. The sun is sending its last energy to us, people are returning home from work, and Eastern 2001 is very near now.

Ok, it is early, but better early than late, Happy Eastern !


I walked into my boss's office at about 10:00, half an hour "late for work". I was holding and sipping from a 32-oz Pepsi cup. I smiled. I asked if he wouldn't mind unlocking my office so I can go into it and do my job. He cheerfully obliges. I apologize for being late. He says "ah, no problem."

Maybe he thought I had overslept, and then had gone over to DenMart anyways to buy refreshments before moseying on over to work. Maybe he's annoyed that I still haven't submitted the KEY REQUEST FORM that sits next to the stack of books at my desk so that he wouldn't have to let me in anymore. Maybe he's annoyed that I'm trying to pull a fast one by wandering in so nonchalantly so late. Maybe I make too many assumptions.

If he had asked me about it, and I had felt comfortable telling him, he would have found out that I got less than three hours of sleep last night due to a nasty teacher-fabricated glitch in a programming assignment, that today is my veryincrediblysignificantother's birthday and I have no gifts, no flowers, no cards, no cake, and not even any energy to play her a love song on my pathetically disused guitar, or show her how much she really means to me, that I feel like total crap, hungry, sick, and so very tired, that when I saw her this morning she was happy and I was sore, bleary-eyed and grumpy and I promised last week that this wouldn't happen and now I feel terrible, that my drink was actually warm, flat, diluted Mountain Dew leftover from the night before, that I don't have $30 in cold hard cash that I can just whip out and hand to the key office as a "DEPOSIT", and that I was late because I was looking for the pager he gave me last week that I have misplaced.

Things tend to even out in the long run, maybe that's why he hasn't wanted to fire me yet, and I can postpone my sweetheart's birthday till next week like she suggests but it just isn't the same. I didn't even finish the stupid assignment. Yesterday I had so many is all wrong.

Well its Friday the 13th, and nothing bad has happened yet.

*Knock Knock*

Quick thought: If today is Good Friday AND Friday the 13th... wouldn't it make today a Good Friday the 13th? Maybe none of us need to worry about the superstition today.

Anyways, It's my last day of Spring Break and how do I spend a whole entire week? Working. And mostly working on the stupid webcam project that has been in my inbox for a year now because d-link refuses to release Windows 2000 drivers for the white dsb-c300. I guess they wont be getting the big fat contract to help make vidconf possible between about 100 separate places... Darn.

Tough shit D-link

   For Arthur, who could usually contrive to feel self-conscious if left alone for long enough with a Swiss cheese plant, the moment was one of sustained revelelation. He felt on the sudden like a cramped and zoo-born animal who wakes one morning to find the door to his cage hanging quietly open and the savanna stretching gray and pink to the distant rising sun, while all around new sounds are waking.

   He wondered what the new sounds were as he gazed at her openly wondering face and eyes that smiled with a shared surprise.

   He hadn't realized that life speaks with a voice to you, a voice that brings you answers to the questions you continually ask of it, had never consciously detected it or recognized its tones until it now said something it had never said to him before, which was "yes".
And later in the chapter:

   Arthur felt that if someone tapped him at that point he would have chimed, like the deep sustained rolling chime his gray fishbowl made when he flicked it with his thumbnail.

So Long and Thanks for All the Fish, by Douglas Adams, Chapter 18

Okay, so perhaps I haven't been having that good of a week. But almost. The late nights (or early mornings?) on irc have been illuminating. The email exchange with the ex has been fabulous, sorta embedding in concrete the calm and understanding that started a month ago. The counseling session this afternoon with the 'rents wasn't half as bad as I thought it was going to be. A little more personal and less about my eventual career than I thought it would be. My mum got all sniffly, as was to be expected, when the ex came up. But I think they understand me a little better. Weird that it required someone other than us to bring it up and all out. That's just the type of people we are, I guess.

I apologize to those hoping for another angst-fest. I'll take that downvote now for being such a happy fool.
Okay, a coda to that saccarine little writeup: Later this night, I found I had been added to the list-o'-noders-whose-names-come-up-by-default-in-Everything User Search.

I'm so proud I could spit like a llama.
After work today I started reading Last Night a DJ Saved My Life an anthology about DJing. If the entire book is anywhere near as good as the introduction and the first chapter, I think I'm going to love this book.

Tomorrow night is the Free Radio Asheville 3rd Year Anniversary. Anyone in the Asheville Area should come to Vincent's Ear Coffee Shop on Lexington to support micropowered radio in the area (mat catastrophe and diadrenni, this means you tow, because you're the only people I know for sure that use E2 and lives in the Asheville, NC area.
It's going to cost $5 at the door, and will be tons of bands and drinks and fun-ness.
I can't wait.
April 13, 5:50pm

So I ended up driving around with Eric and Chris looking for houses for Chris to think about buying even though she is not really trying to buy a house. It's been a somewhat interesting afternoon so far. Trying to put off dragging Dee down here, trying to put off talking with Kir.

Car dealerships, The Butcher Barn, a place to get some tires, signs from the 70's trying to sell me 'sofas, sofas, sofas'. Man, Parkville is freaking weird.

Speaking of german, speaking of exs, speaking of exs that speak german.

Talking about people who wish they were ever in the position to become an ex. Man that one is nuts.

Did you hear who she slept with?
No, she didn't sleep with him.
Are you sure? She has slept with everyone else we know.

Jobs jobs jobs.........Everyone I know needs one or has one. Where does that leave me? I don't want one at all. I'm actually kind of getting used to this not having any place to be, any where to go. It's a nice break from the working full time or more that I have been doing since I was sixteen. I don't want to work any more. I don't. I want to be a kid. I never really was. I want to not have to do anything if I really don't want to. I want to not HAVE to work. I want to be a freaking KID again. Wait, not again. I want to be a kid for the first time. I grew up way too fast and missed my chance at being a kid. I think I'm gonna have a go at it now. I don't think that is too wrong of me. I'm looking at my chance I'm gonna take it. I'm gonna be more mature, but I'm makin a go at being a child. This is confusing, this whole figuring out how to be a kid thing. I'm sure I'll get it right soon enough. *bounce*

Written in 11 AM Artificial Intelligence. Most original formatting preserved, save conversion from uppercase to lowercase. I filled the entire page with this stream-of-conciousness crap, in a bizarre array of boxes and columns not so easy to follow or describe. Probably due to the sleep deprivation I was operating under. Obviously, I took no actual notes on today's notepage.

<< | <- | ->

no sleep let no one
function under the
illusion that i practice
what i preach ... teresa
and i stayed up all night
coding a most heinous ai
assignment in prolog ...
damn meta-interpreter bs
what are the chances
she shows up? we both
had a 10 am class and
before we parted ways
we both said we'd be
disappointed if the
other didnt show ... and
its friday the 13th
{ SNIP }
11:06 + no teresa i am
not surprised tho i
must say consider-
ing the heinous
set before us
i enjoyed our time
more than
i remember with
past awful group
and around 5:40 am
we went and had
{ lo and behold at 11:10 am teresa
shows her face and asks if i'm
writing poetry } breakfast at el
diner a relatively new 24-hour
joint on campus great so much   {push}
of todays topics (like spy) would
have been oh so usefull to have
known back a ways when we
were staring dumbly at the screen
as prolog seemed to defy all
reasonable logic
. and given that
prolog basically is made of
logic so such a situation is
disturbing and oh-so-frustrating.   {pop}
found out a little more obo teresa —
shes a 21-year old senior in seas and wharton (finance)
but honestly why would you
care about that stuff its not
porn no nuke fodder bump +
grind in the glow of the 22"
monitor em radiation mut-
ating our genes. i am jacks
. i get cancer i kill
jack. shes actually taking
notes and paying attention.
{ SNIP }
heavy eyelids bear   {push}
down on my wake
fullness wake fullness
fullness low pressure
system weather boy
jiggly unst-
able gaze euclidean
moisture gradient

bless you bless me
hes all wet rain
outside prove
rain out in
carole said i   {shift}
looked 'hardcore'
with this ban-
dana conceal-
ing my bad-
warm soft toes.
{ SNIP }
ha ha ha the homework   {pop}
was due date moved to
monday of course
that was announced
on wednesday
(neither of us were
there) and no
frikkin email was
sent by prof from
purgatorys fiery
(or not) factoreys
of temporary
opression maybe
from heck she
came spoon held
high to force-
feed ill-prepared
course materials
to doe-eyed class
members who will
be jaded forever
by her abysmall
performance as
an instructor!

{ SNIP }

It has been said that one should not node drunk. But being drunk on Good Friday night, after a day of being alone at the office is entirely another thing.
I wrote this on Palm Pilot. I could barely see the keys on the keyboard. I drunk, and I typed, and then I drunk some more and I typed some more. Only after getting it all out of my system could I sleep, and enter the holiness of the Saturday.
The following day I had no hangover and nearly no memory of writing this. It sounds almost as strange to me as it does to you.

Tonight I want to write something that is true, something that just happens to be true. Let it be said at the very beginning, to make the matter clear: I am drunk. It is Good Friday's night, and I am quite drunk, verily, I have drunk a large amount of rum and lemon juice. And this is a different baffo from the one you know, although the language is largely the same, complete with the same typos, this is another person. Or, if you will, the same person but suddenly stripped (I am naked as I am writing this) of some of his trappings, of some of his cutesy mannerisms. I stand, or rather I sit as I type this, naked before an audience that will read and probably wonder "WTF? Silly drunken baffo, typing away at his Palm Vx, while he listens to 10.000 Maniacs with headphones and a really crappy CD player". You may well say it.
This is another dude talking, one that does not fear words. Drunk, I may be drunk, see, I have no difficulty in admitting it, retaining just enough consciousness to type into a keyboard.
I would rather dictate, but who could I dictate to? I am alone, and I would admite none into my confidence but my Everything2 brothers. You understand, you share the database with me. You have indeed tasted the nodegel, it is not a metaphor, it is what we swim in. It is the medium in which Pseudo_Intellectual expresses his Canadian musings, the matter that allows dannye to be the same gruff Southern dannye that we know, the stuff that whizkid considers at the end of his busy day, what -finally- is at least as real as this Mexican night. For isn't reality largely conventional, if you take a long hard look at it? And rum does help. I see things with clarity.
I see my forsaken lovers, I realize that my vocabulary expands, were I sober I probably would not find in my memory the verb "to forsake".

And in this clarity, that will probably fade with the horrible dawn of Easter Saturday, I start playing again the same CD, in the hope that the little bit of truth that I saw before can come back to this person that I am.

I am not greatly satisfied with myself, I will admit freely. I have failed a person, and now I don't have the necessary balls to say that it is indeed over, that there is not much point in seeing each other, that it is a lie told by the weak to the weak.
That we should accept facts no matter how cold they are.

I can, to a certain degree of approximation, imagine your lifes, my dear North American friends of Everything2, the ones whose things I have read, I can see dem bones' struggle for truth. I can see Yurei trying to make sense of the fucking toasters that life has given him. I can see --OutpostMir--, God, do I miss the little fucker in his suburban home, trying to make sense of his being a a teen in this new and disturbing century,. I can see whizkid's basic decency, and I know that it is a great thing to be decent at his age. I can see dannye, teetering on the edge of something strange and Southern and Faulkner, considering a ship of bone and its implication. I can see wuukiee and dmd at Purdue, faced with the strangeness of being together and being young and being in love and wondering if it will work and if it will last. I can see the New York Everythingians, deeahblita's kinks, yossarian's movies, WickerNipple's photographs, and knarphie being sweet to dee, and Jennifer who is indeed a fucking genius and there should be no mincing of words about it, no need to be embarassed, your brain is bigger than mine and there you have it. Enjoy it.
And the military inhabitants of E2, noding from their vaults, from their planet of acronyms and protocols, now and past. And the mysterious ones, that would not talk to me; it does not matter, I love you all the same. I can't see Gritchka - he is excessively mysterious.
Everything, I take y'all to my breast and it feels good to have buddies sprinkled all over the planet, some in Australia, some in China, some in Europe and some in North America.
It feels good to be part of this global conspiracy of maniac writers, that need to put something down in the hope that it will stay.
I take you all to my breast, inadequate as it may be, and I tell you that it is wonderful, although it may hurt like a bitch, it is wonderful that you feel like telling me all this about you, I am honored.
Our daylogs yearn for permanence.
Wil I find a truth in what I write? My voice is feeble. I fight back the tears.
Again, I am not satisfied with myself. The best I have done is weak and looks suspicious to me.
In the thirtieth year nostrae aetatis I still have not written what I wanted to write, I have not taken the pictures I wanted and I have not said what I mean.
There are only approximations, like Newton's method, at least I have the hope I am getting closer.
Bear with me, as I stumble through the night. There is a truth to be told, I want to tell it, and I can't.


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