a menagerie of fates

"Peddler"

By Antoine

I am a Peddler

Twice a day, four days a week, promptly

I visit the four hungering consumers to which I have been assigned

I have had the misfortune of being dealt a hand of wizards

A menagerie of fates who hold my very future in their hands

When at home I work myself to the brink of exhaustion

Tinkering away, trying hard to build something they will appreciate

Something unique, a special gift for each of them

Tirelessly I slave away for them every night

Questioning the very limits of biology's timepiece

Each morning I gather up the pitiful products of my efforts

Package them and sling them over my shoulder in a satchel

And travel to the four wizards' abode up in the hills

To display my wares and hope they will be satisfactory

Each customer snatches up the trinket he has ordered

Examines it meticulously, turns it over in his hands

Frowns, and makes a few quick scratches in his notepad

Tucks the item away in his sack until further notice

Nervously I sweat, impatient to discover their results

I sit in wait to wordlessly accept the judgment they are to pass

I am a Peddler

I trade in my tears solidified, in exchange for acceptance

For the permission to survive comfortably in society

For the system dictates that this is the way of things

But with Slumber as my cruel and jealous master

I am destined to succumb to him each sundown

Or else suffer the consequences of the hazy aura of disillusionment

With which he would enchant my countenance

Often I haggle desperately with him for artificial might

Bargaining with time I cannot afford to spend

It is then, when I abuse my given privileges

And overstay my welcome among the waking eyes

That my master Slumber keeps me locked up in the dungeon

Refusing to allow me outside, to peddle my wares unto the fates

He poisons me as punishment for neglecting the solace he has offered

Resultantly my place in the world is crumbling

My spirits are dwindling, as the fates continue to mark my absence

And stamp upon my conscience the dark mark I am forced to bear

The dreaded symbol of failure to comply with these harsh measures

I don this now and will wear it evermore

[12.8 at 15:40]

if we were gods

subject: the imperfection of humanity
style: speculative
source: Publilius Syrus

"It is not every question that deserves an answer."

Some people might say they would like to be gods. To know everything, and to be capable of anything. But in truth, so much of what we enjoy about life is founded on being imperfect.

If we were omnipotent, there would be no challenge. Nothing would be impossible. Nothing would be difficult. There would be no games, no sports, no competition. There would be very little fun.

If we were omniscient, there would be no knowledge to seek, no wisdom to search for. If we had all the answers, there would be no questions. There would be no reason to do anything, because everything would be done.

Is this really the sort of life you want to live ?

Enjoy being human, for if there are gods, they must be much more miserable than we.

no comments for you !!

Having just sifted through all my previous posts in order to compartmentalize my full body of work into a triad of collections (which are accessible on my homepage at myantonym.co.nr), it has come to my attention that a shitload of comments I remember seeing in the past have mysteriously evaporated from this blog.

I'm fairly certain they were still there when I changed my blog's URL, and even stranger is the fact that a select few of them still remain. What's more, the deleted comments were not exclusively written by myself or any other one person.

What gives, Google ?

A brief contention with Christian anti-evolutionists.

subject: evolution, Christianity, Genesis
style: informative
source: Malcolm Forbes

"Education's purpose is to replace an empty mind with an open one."

Without any form of evolution, it would be impossible for the gene pool contained in two (original) human beings to populate the diversity of peoples we see in the world today.

We could not (nor could any other species) develop multiple hair colours, eye colours, skin colours, et cetera, or any other multitude of variations on the same gene, without the interference of evolutionary forces.

Therefore, if you disregard the theory of evolution, you must also disregard the validity of the story of the Garden of Eden as we know it (comprising most of Chapters 1 through 3 in the Book of Genesis).

The same principle can be extended to the pairs of animals supposedly housed in Noah's Ark, thus invalidating Genesis 6 through 9 as well.

---------------------------------------------------------

Your logical options as a Christian are as follows:

1) Concede that microevolution is fact.

2) Invent a new story of Genesis in which a vast number of humans are initially created, a group large enough to carry the gene pool we see in humans today (and then some, to account for dying genes). Then prove it to be true.

3) Contend that God has been meddling in human genetics all along. Then prove it to be true.

I can't get my Facebook to balance; my friends keep bouncing.

Upon waking, my subconscious reminds me that I have just had what it thinks is a sex dream. I can remember a majority of its proceedings quite vividly ... but I can't recall any part in it that even remotely resembled what can be called sex.

A penny for one's thoughts: Perhaps it is truthfully not the act itself, but the companionship it presumably provides, for which I so adamantly yearn.

lamenting

"Friend"

by Antoine

Tonight I met a person

the kind of person who is more connected

with herself and more special than the rest

but who feels suppressed because no one is willing

to acknowledge that she is the best

I know her name but she never learned mine

she has no way to find me to tell me

the world is her stage and her heart is mine

her passions align with the seasons

the seasons change from the passage of time

and time passes only when she wills it to

I recognized her face from a dream

I knew it was her when she smiled

There is no way of knowing

of whether I ever will see her again

but there's no use lamenting a sequence of events

(We'll meet again if our meeting is meant to occur,

and if not then I'll kiss her tonight with my eyes closed)

The question I ponder is how long this memory

a ten-minute snapshot of her vacant beauty

will sustain my thirst for the golden ratio

and my craving for someone who understands

just how it feels to be perfectly imperfect

and in love

with the smile of someone stranger

and the flavour of the silence of an overt friend

For now it is enough

[11.7 at 9:24]

the stray

[UPDATE: Hear a spoken version of this poem ...]

http://hubpages.com/hub/thestray

http://youtube.com/myantonym

The Stray

By Antoine

In this town of bustling minds and ticking clocks and overtimes

Among the frenzy most folks find a few others

With whom to forget their hopes and fears

With whom to laugh and cry and vie and get away and enjoy

These people they call their friends

It is the natural order of things

But here we find one lonely soul who stays lonely

As days go by he drifts away from friendships

He sees all the others laughing and enjoying their time together

And wonders why his routine looks so much different from theirs

Everything they have he is missing

He can't explain why but he knows he wants to change it

He knows he would be happier with friends

Every moment that passes he is constantly reminded

He is not like them but dances to a more exotic rhythm

One strange and foreign one they cannot follow

Contemplative overlooked forgotten he feels out of touch

At times he feels included for a spell

But then he fades back out of fashion like a fad a false attraction

He yearns to learn to dance like they do

Sing like they do laugh like they do

There is something they have he is missing

He doesn't know what it is but tries his best to put his finger on

The trigger that will solve his problems

Find his answers cure his troubles ease his pain

He questions himself over again

What is it ? he asks

Am I not interesting enough ? not funny enough ? not attractive enough ?

not strong enough ? not confident enough ? not talkative enough ?

not friend enough for them ? I try my hardest so why don't I work

He feels like a wind up toy that nobody cares enough about to wind

They have all moved on to bigger and better and peopler people

Who have the same unspoken link the same passion password as themselves

He finds himself a lemming in a dilemma

Faced with no good way to let them know he wants to be people too

Wants to be friend wants to be enemy wants to be a cog like them

To help those near him turn by being turned by those who near him help

He wants to be accepted but there is no syntax for such a request

To ask directly would be desperate and untactful

They would cast him out more surely than they had before

But to be quiet about it to tell them hello there in gentle nudges

Demonstrate he damn straight has a reason too to be listened to

Just like them he sees the need for these essential eccentricities

These heys and hearts and harks this humour in humanity

To try it this way goes unnoticed in the scheme of things

It floats beside them in a river of hellos

Streams past them and they hardly hear it

Your voicebox is closed immediately upon opening

Tossed aside to lurk and beg and crawl among the wrappings

You know because you have been there

You have cried out for attention in your politest tone

And they plead no thank yous time and time again

What must I do to be people myself ? he mutters morosely

He is lost

He sees a world in which they have him and he has them,

And he knows there is a way in ...

He has seen it in his dreams:

When he closes his eyes at night, such pleasant visions enter his mind,

Of a place where isolated "he" collides with "you"

To form the cozy coalition, concepts "we" and "ours" and "us."

He feels attached, comforted, charmed, adjusted.

He feels a part of someone, and someone a part of him.

This must be, he thinks, how "friend" feels.

Waking up again the cancer settles on his brain

And feeds him sadness and once more

He is alone

To his diary he whispers

1:38 am November the second

Remember me this

A crazed hallucination of far fetched friend

Has entered my conscience during sleep

I suppose I use my waking hours to rest

And look forward to another high tonight

Farewell fair land

Hello sensation of sneaking sensitivity

I bid thee misanthropic love
At peace we shall at last be

If I happen to remember what went on

death is afraid of you

[This is my 69th post on this blog. Youpi.]

"death is afraid of you"

another (macro)minimalism

by antoine.

your life is a road you just

keep walking forward and

you can never look back

you just

keep walking forward

toward death and

death walks away as you

approach because

death is afraid of you.

the more confidence you

have in your stride

the more fear you will

instill and the faster

death will run away

from you because

death is afraid of you.

if you tell yourself

you are not afraid of death

but rather

death is afraid of you

he will hear you and

he will pick up

the pace and just

keep walking forward.

but sooner or later you

will begin to feel

as if you have

mistaken and you will

wonder what death has

in store and you will

fear him and he will

sense your fear he can

smell your fear he knows

when you let your

guard down and he will

turn around.

you can't help it it's just

in your nature everyone

has been taught that

death is to be feared.

sooner or later you

will do something you

feel is wrong and you

will want to undo it so

you will stop

dead in your

tracks and

stifle and

turn around.

you will try to walk

back to fix your mistakes

but when you turn around

you find nothing but

a mirror a reflection

of yourself blocking

your path and you will only

see your past self

fucking up and

it will hurt you.

you will try to

get back through you will

try to smash the mirror and

pound your fists against

the mirror and

kick and punch and

yell and scream at the mirror

but the mirror will not break

you can never go back

and you will cry

and you will wish you had

not fucked up

quite so bad.

this has happened

to you already.

as you remember

you can feel

the pain the stinging

the heartbreak.

and perhaps now

you turn around

again to wallow

in the misery

your memory the faulty

camera in your mind

but this is

when you let your

guard down and death

will know.

death is afraid of you

but when he feels

your fear death musters up

the courage to fight back.

death says i am

bigger than this and

he will turn around

and start walking

back toward you.

death will take

the opportunity when you are

crying silently

or gazing through

the mirror of your past

when you pause

eyes closed

head down

death hurries swiftly back

and ever so quietly

sneaks up behind you

and taps you on the back and

death will take

your misery away.

[Posted 12:52. That's 20 minutes. Not bad.]

the matrix of belief

subject: theism, gnosticism, pathy; and their antonyms
style: informative
source: Mark Twain

"Get your facts first, then you can distort them as you please."

I have been wanting to write this post for a considerably long time, but for some reason I never got around to it. I touched on this subject two and a half years ago in Part Three of Rabies ... but I was very wrong back then, and my logic was all mixed up, so don't bother yourself to read it.

Today I will provide you with a much-needed clarification of the distinction between atheism and agnosticism. I have never heard anyone define the terms clearly as I am about to do, because the belief is so widespread that the two are under the same category.

Atheism and agnosticism are not under the same category. It is not a matter of atheist "or" agnostic. I am not claiming only that they have different meanings, but that the two terms are in fact two separate categories, which interlock. This is the fundamental concept that you must comprehend before you can even pretend to argue about this sort of thing.

"Theist" comes from the Greek root "theos," meaning "god."

"Gnostic" comes from the Greek root "gignosko," meaning "I know."

"Pathetic" comes from the Greek root "pathetikos," meaning "impassioned." (Don't worry too much about this for now; it will come into play later on.)

"A-" is a common prefix (likewise from the Greek), meaning "not" or "without."

Most people fall prey to the common misconception that there is a list of beliefs: [theist, atheist, agnostic], and that every person must fall under exactly one of these labels, one and only one. The problems with this view are that: it completely leaves out the essential fourth term "gnostic," and it ignores the fact that the structure of belief is not a list, but a matrix.

Consider the following cross-referencing table:

	theist	atheist
gnostic	1. gnostic theist	4. gnostic atheist
agnostic	2. agnostic theist	3. agnostic atheist

(These numbers will be referred to briefly later on, only for clarity.)

Using these terms as variables rather than sweeping end results, we can now clearly see a distinction among four separate schools of thought. Here we have a much more accurate and reasonable rule to go by: Every person must adhere to one term from each category; that is, one must be either theist or atheist, while at the same time either gnostic or agnostic.

Now we need to define these terms themselves so that the matrix above can be accepted and easily understood.

Theism vs. atheism: This category designates whether an individual believes or does not believe in the existence of a deity or deities. Note that this is the only category necessarily exclusive to religious belief.

Gnosticism vs. agnosticism: This category measures dogma, the level of conviction with which an individual believes he is correct. A gnostic claims to know for certain that his set of beliefs is the correct one, whereas an agnostic concedes that it is possible for his set of beliefs to be proven wrong by another, whether by logic and rational thinking or by pathos and persuasion. Note that this category could be used to quantify beliefs in a number of contexts, but "agnostic" has come to be used almost exclusively in a religious sense.

Pathy vs. apathy: By extension, a third category arises. This category quantifies the extent to which an individual cares about his beliefs, the degree to which he wants to persuade or convince other people to see the merit of his particular set of beliefs.

The introduction of this third category to the system establishes eight distinct categories of religious belief:

	pathetic	apathetic
1.	1a. pathetic gnostic theist	1b. apathetic gnostic theist
2.	2a. pathetic agnostic theist	2b. apathetic agnostic theist
3.	3a. pathetic agnostic atheist	3b. apathetic agnostic atheist
4.	4a. pathetic gnostic atheist	4b. apathetic gnostic atheist

Obviously, none of these dichotomies are absolute. An individual can be in the middle of the road on any of these categories; but it is important to note that, just as with any binary system, no individual can be entirely ambivalent, and he must lean (however slightly) toward one side or the other.

To summarize, in layman's terms:

(A)theism is what you believe.

(A)gnosticism is what you know.

(A)pathy is how much you care.

And now I ask of you, which of these eight labels most closely fits your own beliefs ?

I am 3a ... :D

[The opinion segment:]

Agnosticism, to me, is common sense. No matter what you believe, and no matter what evidence (or who knows what else) you have to back it up, if you have common sense and are a reasonable human being, you have to admit that you would surrender your beliefs if an alternative school of thought arises that carries more evidence or more closely matches your spiritual needs.

Gnosticism, on the other hand, is hubris: an unfortunate flaw of the human mind, which can in fact grow to be extremely dangerous to the mental well-being of oneself and of others.

If you are confused about which is better, between theism and atheism, consider watching NonStampCollector on YouTube. He is sure to be able to clear things up for you, and I cannot recommend his videos enough. They are earnest, intellectual, considerate, and incredibly enlightening.

Pathy versus apathy is a matter of personal preference. You either care or you don't; I can't blame you either way. Nobody can rightfully tell you whether or not you should care about something.

[Posted at 9:22]

back into action. ?

With Air Heads, Hawaiian Punch, and Imogen Heap as my fuel, I return finally (after at least a month of writing drought and feeling terrible about it) to Rainbeast. Most of you (all but one, in fact) do not know what this is. No worries, you will know by next year. For now, I just need to take action already.

That is, if I can find it ... I know it is buried somewhere in these stockpiles of thought-become-ink.

While you're here, check out NonStampCollector on YouTube. A recent and pleasing find of mine. www.youtube.com/nonstampcollector, that is. Go ahead, you deserve it.

p.s. Until recently, I'd only heard a live version of "I Am in Love with You," only I didn't know it was live, and now that I've heard the album version, it just doesn't sound right. I'm used to the wrongness. What, sound familiar ? Strange ...

p.p.s. What the Hel. Today is not September 31st. I was no less fooled by this notion than I was three years ago. Crazy. Honestly, though ... I have been reminding myself for the past two weeks that I need to finish scene four of Timepiece, and for the latter half of said timespan I had semi-convinced myself that I would get back to it on the 31st. Well, guess what, creative spirit ? There is no 31st. Do you still want me to get on it ?

ma, in stream ?

I have to say this. I've been thinking it for a long time, and now I have to say it. Mainstream music sucks ass.

The song "Harder, Better, Faster, Stronger" by Daft Punk was remade into "Stronger" by Kanye West (gag).

The song "Apologize" by OneRepublic was remade into "Apologize" by Timbaland ("feat." OneRepublic ... ha, ha, ha).

The song "Hide and Seek" by Imogen Heap was remade into "Whatcha Say" by Jason DeRulo (thank you, grammar).

The song "Heartless" by The Fray was -- oh wait. Well, still. Their version is infinitely better.

The one thing all these have in common is that they take a great work of art and make it exponentially uglier and basically worse in every possible way. They essentially *steal* the song, and just change it a little (usually hardly at all) to try to make it more "popular," thus rendering its musicality brain-dead. Why must the envious celebratties spoil the spoils of the truly talented ?

All I know is they need to stop. No matter how crappy your music is, if you will at least have the dignity to make it yourself, I will hold back my complaints.

acceptants

I am accepted

because everyone else here

is just as desperate as I am

to be accepted.

Once they cease to be,

so will I.

hundreds of millions of

subject: more ramblings-on
style: rambling-on
source: Do I really have to ?

In stead of a quote, you can try this video that approaches what I am saying.

It is hard being the minority, because even when you know you are right, and even when there are tens of millions of other sane, intelligent people who know you are right, you always have to wonder how there can be hundreds of millions of people who claim to know beyond all doubt that you are wrong.

I have realized that, being at a new place where nobody really knows me, people talk to me, and they let me talk to them. Knowing no better, they assume that I have something important to say and that I have a right to say it. They are unaware of my reputation; they are completely oblivious of who I really am. It is an amazing sensation. I suppose I should enjoy it while it lasts.

I keep wondering when I will finally stop saying I should do things and instead actually do them. Nothing is holding me back now but my self, my cryptic habits, and my inherent insanity.

I ask myself now when I will decide to figure out what is wrong with me, and whether I should try to fix it. I think I am afraid that, by clearing all the "undesirable" traits out of my system, I will at the same time be obliviating all the unique nuances that set me apart from all the normal, socially acceptable people.

Having watched the season premiere of House, I am appalled at the sort of thing the shrinks are trying to teach him, the ways they are trying to "help" him. This Nolan guy, he is telling House that he should stop being miserable and influential and start being happy and worthless. I for one would much prefer the former. He actually tells House he needs to go to this work party, and learn how to be just like everyone else, how to make small talk and be sociable and likeable and boring. The nerve ! The impudence !

God, how I hate people. And I hate how my natural impulse was to begin that statement with the word "god," and how somehow that necessarily refers to the unoriginally-named christian God, and how I still can't think of any other interjection in the whole of the English language (or any other language, for that matter) that I could use to begin that sentence and still convey the same emotion.

I have to stay away from people at all costs, because the sole thought that satisfies my conscience in view of the world is the knowledge that I am better than them, that I do not comply to these social constructs, the unmalleable standards of acceptability. Looking at how stupid people are, the only thought that keeps me sane is the knowledge that I am not a part of all this, that I am above it, except in the worst of times. If I somehow became like the rest of them, I would cry. You don't know me well enough to be reading this if you don't know how much that means.

I play an online game. One. And I contribute actively to its forum. Unbelievably, there are people on this forum I actually like. One in particular. She uses proper mechanics in her writing: she knows how to spell, how to speak, how to capitalize, without fail. Her grammar is impeccable. She is intelligent, talented, artistic, motivated, hard-working, tech-savvy. She gets it. She is intrigued by all the right things, all the most intriguing aspects of life. But I do not actually know her. On one hand, it inspires me to know that, somewhere out there, there really do exist persons who matter, to themselves and to others who matter. On the other, it depresses me that it is damn near impossible to actually meet one of them.

I might do some things. I shall try to write more. But for whom ? It is hard to write when there is nobody around to read it, and I do not have the genetic capacity to read it to anyone (as I would love to do, at a poetry jam, and as theoretically I would be very good at doing). It is hard to write for nobody but myself. It is depressing, and tedious, and melancholy. I already know what is going to happen at all times. Nevertheless, I shall try to write more. And soon I will talk at you about gender, I think. Sociology rules. Fcuk.

[finished five 'til midnight.]

[Next night edit :]

Series premiere of Flashforward. A few comments I would like to make.

1) This is going to make me constantly wonder to myself, "what would happen if I fell unconscious at this very moment ?" It sort of makes you second-guess your decisions at all times. The game.

2) I really hope they don't try to portray that guy-who-stayed-conscious as necessarily evil, and start accusing him (or her ?) as having caused the whole thing. I can totally see them trying to pull that off. Just the fact that he wasn't affected, that he stayed awake, does not mean he perpetrated the affair. It could mean simply that he is somehow immune to the phenomenon, genetically or psychologically. In fact, this is much more likely. Because if it affected the whole world, how could it not have touched one guy who was standing right out there in the open ? Damn, the poor guy must have been freaked out of his wits.

3) Please don't make this a religious ordeal. FOX, I will stop trusting you altogether if you have one more character say this was Mr. God's doing. Good ol' God.

4) On a similar note, it depresses me that when someone looks up at the sky, you instantly assume they are looking toward God and his Heaven and whatnot. Even the nonreligious people do it; it is always my first impression; it has been deeply and heavily socialized into our brains. When someone looks up at the sky, we should instantly think they are pondering the vastness of the universe, or marveling at the intricacies of the night sky, or considering the expansive beauty of the cosmic design. Not Mr. God's plan. Good ol' God.

minimal, is't ?

"twenty-two"

as i go through
life i just
keep falling further
asleep and i
sometimes can't keep
my eyes open so
i close them.

as the years
go by my eyes
close more
and more and
i know
one of these
days i will
not care to
open them again.

it is at
this time i
will cease to
see the distinction
between dreality
and reams.

click to see all its glory

Normally I don't post others' pieces,

but this is too worthy of designation.

The purest work of art I have ever seen.

A poem, by Tom Milsom, entitled

"where the world goes"

twelve inches

of the stuff

fell from the sky

while you slept

it has made

three men

with the help

of little hands

so get up

and come down

to watch the sun

make every flake

sing

a song

of where

the world goes

under the weather

wet and preserved

is yesterday

and colour

sits in your eyes

evergreen

making angels

it used to sting

it used to kill

but we've grown up

and learned to play

and when you closed

your eyes last night

the world let all these

fat,

tired

clouds

make it something new

and now it is time

to show it

where

to go

something anywhere near their caliber

subject: love, reputation, depression
style: honest
source: Gilgamesh, Herbert Mason, p. 36

"Enkidu was alone with sights he saw brought on by pain and fear, as one in deep despair may lie beside his love who sleeps and seems so unafraid, absorbing in himself the phantoms that she cannot see ..."

Love is a curious thing. I know it isn't good for me. I know from years of experience on both sides, that overall I am happier, more self-confident, more clear-headed and reasonable, more productive, and more successful in my endeavours when I am alone than when I expend my efforts on other people. And yet I still subconsciously strive to have someone significantly in my life. Why do I do this ? Is it because of my raging hormones ? Possibly. Is it because I feel the societal stigmata resulting from my state of unaccompaniment, and know that I will not be fully accepted until I comply with the standards that we blindly expect of everyone ? Could be. But I like to think it is something more.

Let me tell you about myself. I am an atheist, a transcendentalist, a skeptic, a writer, a rebel, a social outcast -- all the things nobody ever wanted me to be. I am an independently-minded person, and above all I love solitude. I am no good at interacting with other people, I have no outstanding interest in doing so, and I never have. I prefer to keep to myself and watch you and study all the odd things you do and wonder how we got this way.

With all this in mind, I still enjoy from time to time a little attention. I like to sit down and talk with someone who respects me, to have some decent conversation about nothing in particular. I like to hit on someone every now and again; it keeps me going. And I like response. If I try to talk to her and she doesn't care, I feel as if I've done something wrong, and I become self-conscious and paranoid and wonder where I've gone awry. I suppose all these things are really inherently human, and yet I wonder why someone like me must still succumb to them.

I suffer with self-image and lack of confidence and concern for the decisions I've made, all the things I wish I had done, and the many things I will wish I had done several years into the future. I want so badly to be so much like certain other people, and I feel I will never be able to accomplish something anywhere near their caliber. I worry that I really have no talent at all, that I enjoy my works simply because I wrote them, and the fact that anyone else might enjoy them is in fact an illusion. Deep down, I really want to be a music major -- I would love that more than anything else -- but I don't think I have gathered enough talent in the years that have already passed to be able to do anything pleasant with it.

On top of all these fears, all this doubt and uncertainty, I think it makes me feel a little more alive, and life a little more worth living, when I am appreciated by an outside source. I think this is in essence the reason I still try to fit in. I still confuse even myself, though, in that my desired results vary so greatly based on the circumstances. Take a simple walk across campus, for instance. Sometimes when I do so, I think to myself "I hope I will see someone I know so that I will not be so alone," and sometimes I think "I hope I don't see anyone I know, because I really don't feel like having to deal with other people." This mindset often switches several times a day. From this, I can see why you wouldn't want to stop and take the time to talk to me, because obviously it is ridiculously unclear that (or when) I want you to. (And similarly, when I hit on you, you don't know if responding positively would only boost my ego or go further by making me dwell and think too much of the scenario.) So what should you do ? Well, although I despise the whole idea of small talk -- its intentions, its purposes, and its applications -- I suppose the most effective decision would be to try to force me to talk to you and see what comes of it.

But back to love (and I promise all these things are ultimately related). The whole idea of spending your life with one person is mediocre, juvenile, and outdated. And why, after all it has done to me, do I still (even when I have better things to do) go out of my way to pursue the potential for something akin to love ? Because I know that life sucks and consists of very little which will keep you occupied long enough to help you overcome the realization that nothing you do really matters in the end. And I know that, even with all the many problems I have, I am still on the higher end of the spectrum when you look at people's intellect, talent, dedication, and reason -- which is somewhat depressing. I know that life's events are boring and uneventful, and that what proceeds each day, in comparison to the last or the next, is little more than a different reaction to the same already-existent outside stimuli. I know that, when it comes down to it, all you can really do to make yourself feel happy is temporarily bandage your longest-lasting and most terrifying wound: the knowledge that you were born to die. I see that you live and you die, and nothing exciting happens in between; and so I conclude that there must be some missing piece I am yet failing to experience. And this I can refer to only as love. Without love, life is quite simply pointless. The only thing that gives your life purpose is the ability to convince yourself that you have attained something higher in value and in power than the very hands of Death himself, and love is the only drug I have witnessed with enough natural relaxant contained within to be capable of such a feat.

You don't make any sense either. Nothing does. What you see as truth is a direct cross-product of your daydreams and your fear of the unanswerable.

(I had to skip my Poli Sci reading to write this. But when inspiration calls, how can you argue ? And I actually don't feel bad about it in the slightest, because all these words I can see and I can feel and I can be proud of. What would I glean from reading someone else's observations that is more valuable than making original thought-clouds of my own ? Here I have learned something new about myself, and doubtless so have you. The effort I have expended toward this has come from my brain, rather than my eyes -- and the former feels no strain afterward. And alas, this has kept me wide awake. Before I started, when I was trying to read, I literally could not keep my eyes open. Switching my synapses from a passive to an active process has kept me from drifting. I see this as wholeheartedly healthy, and appreciably positive.)

[Posted two hours after midnight.]