Day after day the same drab. Just once, I'd like for there to be some sort of signal, telling me that there is a certain order in the universe. But all I get is a bunch of preadolescent bumfuckers waving themselves all over the page, telling the universe and I what to do with our free time. Rhyme and reason, that's all I ask for...is that so much? I had a stray thought the other day that really scared me or at least made me think: say for instance that nothing really was what it was...there was no anger, no happiness or sadness, no emotion at all, because it is all a joke. All the hurt and the wasted existential angst, all wasted on the undeserving little social networking assholes, posting comments like "Under so much stress, my best friend's boyfriend cheated on her...I hope that little fucker burns in hell." Why would someone wish that on someone? Aren't we all human? How can we be so quick to pass judgment over those we know so little about? The idea of perception as reality is one of the most flawed notions humanity has yet fathomed in its ten thousand year timeline. Everyone suffers, to some extent, but it is getting out of it, I've come to realize, that really makes someone...which is partially at the heart of existentialism...so I quit. I quit my job, hoping in some way I'd still be able to form some relationship with her, with them. I can see them, basking in the midday sun, like a gila monster in the desert. I just don't understand it, how can someone feign actual stress, actual pain, when in Palestine or in Sudan or in Southeast Asia and South America and in Haiti and everywhere in the world there is some kind of injustice, and...I can see her and them laughing at me. Never thought these thought pictures would ever see me again, nor would I ever see them again. Everything is becoming one, for some reason. Squished, and I feel slightly trapped, like it was planned. I've felt it before, or have I, I don't know anymore...like love, the first time I ever felt it, I had no idea what it was, and I wasn't so inclined to actually believe what Matt and Reuben said about it, despite the fact they were in happy relationships with girls I crushed upon in my early high school years. Do I ever really have a thought that is my own? or am I just being fed information, and my body being a conduit for others to slip in and out of? Greenwood has changed...I have changed...Julian, not so much, she's still out there, somewhere.