You know how you sometimes hear about babies, and how they don't realize the world exists when they're not looking at it?

Well, the funny thing is that is sort of doesn't. I was reading about these scientists who discovered that when you're not looking, matter and antimatter don't do what they're supposed to when they meet, and you get these negative-photons that actually "shouldn't" exist (according to mankind's retarded view of the universe, which is sort of like trying to see what's on the bottom of the ocean by looking at the surface).

But anyway, what if life is just the delusion that the universe still exists when you're not looking? What if babies don't get this because their minds haven't shut off that thoughtcanal of clarity?

The bottom line is that when you're not perceiving things, they only have a certain probability of existing, and it's impossible to say for sure what's what. So right now I'm sitting up at 1 AM and no one's around. Maybe they're all dead, and maybe they never existed in the first place. I can feel these keys, but all I really feel is nerves firing electronic signals. So since I'm not really perceiving the outside world, just my brain's perception of it, there's no way of knowing whether anything really exists.

"Life" is willfully ignoring this truth, and taking action as though it had consequence. I don't believe that it does. Babies are forkin smart.
1. Each "consciousness" is a single point in the universe, and exists outside of the body it is connected to as well as other consciousnesses, and the outside world, too.

2. Each consciousness is bound by at least two threads (I'm not set with my theory or whatever yet, there could always be more): connection and understanding. Connection means interaction and desire based in the material world in which all consciousnesses reside (as far as we know). And understanding is like... realizing that all goes, and that attachment is vain. So these are the two extremes: life, which is connection, which is caring and action, and death, which is understanding, which is apathy and passiveness.

3. Now, control is introduced. Life is the attempt at control, and death is the realization and inevitable surrender to change. The ultimate understanding is that there is no control. The ultimate life is attempt at complete control.

4. Now, there is "happiness" and subjectivity. I started out thinking at the ultimate happiness is full understanding, because... well, because I consider true happiness to be preparation for death. You know how the saying goes "I'm so happy I could die right now." Or whatever. Well that's sort of how I see it. And the closer you are to death, then, the less of a transition it is, I guess? Like, if you are completely detached, then there is no loss in death. Death is wrong when the consciousness is unprepared. But then I thought that it's not absolute understanding, but the optimal mix of life and death, of understanding and connection, and this is what happiness is, and this is what we idolize.

5. Sports and art are the same thing because they seek a fals environment where life and death can be experienced simultaneously. Because, one problem in life is aimlessness. There is no absolute meaning. Art and sports create meaning by shrinking the world, to a finite number of words and characters, rules and players. Images. The infinity of the cosmos is reduced to a more manageable size, and this allows people to make specific goals. This, in turn, allows for "talent." I mean, there's a great baseball player named Albert Pujols. He's Amazing. But what would he be without a certain set of arbitrary rules? It's hard to say. He might be a very focused individual, but that's only because his goal is so simple. As a person, there are no easy goals because each consciousness is absolutely detached from its body and space, and so it exists on a different plane.

6. Everything is the same. All moments have the same weight to one's consciousness, because after all everything is infinitely distant. Feeling love is the same thing as feeling hungry. Which is the same thing as stubbing your toe. It's all just different levels of connection and understanding.

7. This is why I think there is a parallel universe: I feel like everything is stationary. That, if the universe is a function, if you derive it enough it comes to a constant at the end that determines could everything works on the higher levels of the equation. Like if the universe were x^5, it's final derivative would be... 120? Yeah. So our universe will have one underlying principle that holds it together, and somehow I also see this binding life and death. Now, you need another universe with an opposite value so that the net value is zero. Newton's third.

8. some understanding is needed to get the most of life, and some life is needed to gain understanding. So the two are not separate things so much as related variables that define all consciousnesses.

9. The universe is like soup, full of little things flying around. Some of these are conscious, but that doesn't mean they're not soup, too. I can get struck by lightning that is unconscious and die. Just as you can choose to throttle me, just as I can choose to kill myself. So, eahc consciousness is affected by three things: chance, the choices of others, and the choice of itself. Unconscious things are affected by only chance and outward choice.

10. It's not clear to me the extent that choice exists. If it exists, it is way overshadowed by chance. I mean, it's a matter of chance that choice exists at all. If our earth never appeared, we wouldn't be here to choose to smoke cigarettes or walk our dogs. You know?

11. Do you know what fundamental frequency is? Oh yeah! We talked about it. I think the whole universe depends on it. If you think of it was a liquid, then there are some waves in it, spirals of water, etc. And we exist in the context of this flow. When we act in accordance with it, it's harmonious, but when we go against it, there's either a big disturbance or we get "corrected." I'm thinking of civil rights for some reason. Or any social movement. It has to come at the right time, when the impulse of a person is added to the impulses of others, and conflicting agendas don't destroy all momentum. So you go Rosa Parks, Riots, MLK, everything in succession, building momentum by having the right frequency, which creates a larger change within the mass of consciousnesses they affect. Of course, momentum can also be lost. MLK gets assassinated, people's agendas take over, and all of a sudden things stop changing. It's like there's a spiral going in one direction and you starting pushing the water in the opposite direction. It stops.

12. Or sex. I thought of fundamental frequency in the context of the thrusts of a penis into a vagina. The muscles in the vagina contract, and then release. If the penis goes forward again just as the vagina reaches the end of its cycle, then the thrusts add together. But if he thrusts too soon, or too late, then they have a detrimental effect, and the sex is not enjoyable. Just as this staggering leads to orgasm, so do the propagations of other additive impulses lead to larger change.

13. I think sex is really important because it is our connection to life and death. Although, not all sex. Homosexual, oral, anal sex have no connection to life. But the sexual urge is one whose purpose involves the propagation of our species. This does not mean that heterosexual sex is more valid, because that requires the acceptance of the idea that the propagation of the human species is right or essential. It's not. Everything is distant.

14. I'm suspicious of cause and effect. And suspicious of human understanding of them, if they exist. All perspectives are flawed and incomplete, because there is an infinite amount of stuff. Or at least, way more than a human mind can ever comprehend. A consciousness, in other words, can never have a meaningful grasp on the universe because no matter how much it understands, there is an infinite amount to still understand. This is part of the reason why this theory does not exclude others. It is not an end. There are no ends.

15. Everything is at a step in a process, and its only which direction you're going in that matters. People are unhappy because they have the wrong mix of connection and understanding, and are thus unprepared for death. But if they try to alleviate this suffering by just making the balance worse, then not only are they still unprepared, but they are not even moving in the right direction. They become dependent, and this dependence is based on a delusion which amounts to a simplification of the cosmos. Money is a good example. Money is a human invention, but people live their lives as though it were some divine metric. But it's not, and it doesn't bring happiness.

16. The problem of too much life, and connection, should be obvious. There is no control, or even attempt at control, and one can easily be duped into caring about things that don't matter. But too much understanding has the other effect: not caring about things that might matter, or trying to have too much control.

17. Going back to the duplicity of consciousness, perhaps understanding is the part of identity that the consciousness creates for itself, and connection is the means by which it expresses that identity. In this way, it is obvious that a balance of the two is needed, because expressing a nonexistent identity is asinine and so is creating one you never share. Although, to a certain extent, all the things being distant, not sharing oneself is logical in a way, because in death, all things are eternally separated. But there is life before death, and this is important too.

18. Everything truly is relative. Meaning especially. I was just thinking "wow, I'm really a special person." But, really, that doesn't matter. In eighty years I'll be rotting (or less!), just like everyone else, and in the interim I'm still bound by many of the same limitations as others- biological, sociological, etc. In the scope of the universe, I'm not different than anyone else, or than a tree, or a rock, or a star. It really doesn't matter. Any difference is caused by perspective, and thus requires consciousness. And what I think is that these differences are connection. It's possible to withdraw, not let oneself be affected by the stimulae of existence, and become unattached from the world and oneself, even. And at that point, everything seems absolutely the same- all just soup in the universe.
tragic delirium gives way to long postponed joy.
it comes slowly to the boy that his handcuffed jumping beans could have long since been set loose.
but this revelation brings no external sign, and he sighs, like before,
though the cause for this sighing is now different, perhaps.

for what is change?
all is equal, all feelings are finally equivalent,
and though mountains and feelings erode into dust,
the state of existence doesn't change.

and so the boy recedes, past his foibles and past the foibles of others,
past the tactile sensations he experiences,
past the blood coursing in his veins,
past the neurons firing in his brain the allow to even think such thought,
for these things do not define him.

but then, what does? nothing.
his denominator is zero, as all denominators are,
and as all domination and denominations come to after a while.

and since these things pass,
as does existence,
the boy is totally free despite material roadblocks,
and he continues to sit, quite quietly, but secure,
in the knowledge and feeling of no expectation.
The fireflies are blinking at me
like your cigarette used to
and my mind is wand'ring,
also, like it used to.

And I'm sitting alone, in the dark of the night,
the way I have always done.
Here, and not here.
Her, and not her.
And nothing could be farther than you, who are eclipsed
by the motion of other spectral, planetary objects
which are not objectively objectionable.

And if my eyes dilate enough,
and my gaze is unsteady enough,
A pattern emerges in the sexual maturity of distant beings.

There, in the overwhelming but incomplete darkness,
I feel like myself, for once, but don't trust the feeling,
and after a while I crush it out.
How, said I, do you feel about the new Bob Dylan album,
To the version of Abe Lincoln that existed in Springfield, Illinois.

And he said to me you know, I dig it like I would did my own grave under certain circumstances.
And I said to Abe I said what would those circumstances be?

He said when each man is estranged from himself,
When a couple must worry about whether the world is something they would like to subject someone to.

And I thought to myself, what the fuck does this have to do with a Bob Dylan album? And wait- was that a positive or negative response?
I've regretted every decision I've ever made,
And my new idea about how this game should be played
Is to simply stop making choices.

Listening to the radio today,
Man, I hate the songs they play, but anyway,
This song came on that I did know,
And even though it brought me no
Pleasure, at least I knew the words, you know?

Gross like oral sex
At the cineplex.
I'm left bereft of any clue
Of how to get through to you.
My detective bag's got holes, you see
And your man from Tacoma, he follows me.

I'm the rudest nudist this side of the Mississippi
You though, must qualify as the lewdest buddhist,
Oh, fuck comparison- this is dippy.

The 200 hurdle was never my specialty.
I'm much to fertile, thou
Musn't let me curdle, now.

They are so quick to anoint you with the laurel wreath,
But when they speak of your morals,
They're decidedly brief.

You can say whatever you want to say,
And not say whatever you don't.
But don't look for me on the inevitable day
That you need me, because see me you won't.
lookin' at the water blue
it's starting to make more sense than you
a pattern one would see in escher-
it's taking away all the pressure.

lookin' at the rustlin' trees
ain't my area of expertise
it's such a curious caveat
i see much better when i don't know what i'm looking at
bring me the face of anyone famous,
and make me a mask behind which i can hide.
i want people to listen to me.

fuck man, i'm anti-letariat.

it's beyond specific instances and names,
it's beyond reality.
it's me, man. and i'm mad.
because in fifty years we'll be remembered as monsters,
if anyone's there to remember at all.
in-lain, insane.
foreman- doorman.
boss- moss.

the day we lost was the day the woman bought a new bra,
because she'd burned her old ones.

the day we lost was the day they came down from their palaces
and convinced us that the view from the hill was much clearer.

the day we lost was they day they said they knew the real freedom,
and we believed in them.

and the day we lost was yesterday, is today, is every day that

heads don't roll
riots aren't held
no one throws a brick through their tv, because it was too expensive
you do, don't you, he said.
me, ned?

plopped onto kleptomania
stole the show.
nothing is left anymore,
fucking appeasement.

they came with their needles and
we left with holes in our arms.
no more fucking typhoid, bitches.

the presence of presents presents pre-scents.
lycopene is a dopamine inhibitor,
you ignorant, over/under-medicated phool.

but at least we don't have fucking typhoid.
the disease sells itself as the cure
and the people act all demure
because we've been conditioned into thinking it's us that's wrong
when nothing is from truth further.

when people self-destruct, the system is just reaching its natural conclusion.
they're puppets. and the real suffering is not knowing why one is the way one is.

control is overrated. it doesn't exist. control does not exist.


coincidence is an underrated explanation for things.

raeganism is paganism

that's the number of the beast,
not in the least.
fight or flight.

i wish i knew how to react
and not betray my loathsomeness.

a fish gasps for oxygen when it's all around,
just because it's not in the form it's used to.

things become clear and refined when i think of this from time to time

and that all castles made of sand are washed away eventually,
the castles, and the prisons. all washed away by hugeness and routine.

the great, and the small.
the good, and the bad.

in time, all is dust.
the echoes of words fade in darkness,
and that's okay.

our songs will all be silenced.
what of it?
go on singing.
i think of you with annoying regularity,
like the erections i always wake up with.

and when i put on my mask of solidarity,
my thoughts remind me it's just a myth.
your song, it fills the air
in a giant open room where
a statue hides it's derriere,

sometimes i wish that i was there
at other times i don't
a part of me thinks that in a million years i'll still think about you
a part of me thinks that i won't.

but, in the middle,
it's a riddle with which i play,
not knowing what to say,
ruing every day
that goes by.
and these thoughts, the ones that i avoid avoiding,
tend to disappear in obtuse awareness
of your presence, which i'm in,
and my excuses are growing thin.

you're a beaut',
you're acute.
you're astute.

in the furrows of the mountainside
there is a hermit wand'ring,
and down he comes, amidst the thundering,
to do his blundering, which he enjoys.
off kilter,
i smoke to the filter
when the heat burns me.

i manage to keep going
straight until something turns me.

the way that you forbid
just the things that used to spurn me.

in practice,
it's like lying on a cactus
trying to reach what concerns me.

baby, let me follow you down

ragged, muffled, strangled, weak.
kite flies overhead,
down here wafts the smell of dead.

high voltage piercing stare,
a defibrillator in reverse.
I'm embarrassed, man, to have all these Post-its.
Once, my attempt at asking a girl out was described to me, in retrospect, as specifically "not a debacle... yet."
Cold Pastoral! was Keats' way of saying "Holy Shit!"
You don't have to report to me, Helen.
Please, sit down.
Please, Please,
Bring them here.
I swear to God...

Cold Pastoral!
Maximize this profit model!
"Myopic Motherfucker"
New rule: if you major in business, you're a motherfucker.

Who is you?
You is you is you.
If I were Baker...

- in Paterson, that's just the way things go -
shown how to feel good and told... to feel bad.
(speed is the absolute value of velocity)

This is all an allegory of sorts.
One time in math class- Adam's head:

What retard said 16?
Uh, I guess it was me.
Something strange is going on in my mind.

Announcer: "In this corner, coming in at 5'7" and 120 pounds, [Girl #1]! Aaaaaaand in the other corner, 5'4", 115 pounds (figures are estimations, as asking would be rude)! Now, the time for words is over- there's just one more question to ask: Are you ready to rumble?!"

The jello wrestling match begins.
Who prevails my affection wins.
These two girls, both filled with pride,
Now expose themselves to gain my side.
I told you that my head was freaky.

After all, who takes risks for me?
there are no words with which to say
that which is on my mind today
perhaps tomorrow i can tell
that which today i can't expel

my name is not my name.

simply orange:
come, senator.

What if it's all up to INTERPRETATION?

i am so not ready for that responsibility.
I wish that I was requiem.
Table, chair. Instead: PM.
The nobleman sits on his hands
as a band marches past.

There's nothing I would rather do
that just to hang around with you.
Where the hell are you, sergeant?

That special self-aware perspective
which accompanies all self-respecting retrospectives
into the realm of desire.
It's times like these I realize
that in the process of caramelize
I am preaching to the choir.
In my mind I oft meander
Through and through the oleander,
Preparing flowers which I'll hand her
If I ever get the chance.

From the journal


Often, meteorology
compensates poorly for the
lack of an umbrella.

This is indicative of a larger
rift in the national state of affairs,
namely the uncompromising
nature of compromise that
permeates the collars
and the bells of the land.

Or, perhaps not? Perhaps it
is the sinking ship of state
which clouds the rays
of sunlight flashing
one the deck where
waves are crashing
And the crates, colliding,
up against the iron lashings of my inner mind.
you supply the witty repartee-
but what would renee descartes say?

nothing, he's dead
In comes the jury: sound and fury.
Whose responsibility is it to symbolize anyway?
Some percussionist's! but then, aren't we all?

Some, more than others, are eloquent.
The talent is venting
That sound and fury as beauty,

But then, doesn't it all come down to definitions?
Judgment is based on the degree to which definitions overlap.

What is your good? What is my freedom?
They're both a possessive pronoun and a noun.
I think about this and it makes me frown.
At this stage, I'm still in formation-
Is my "self" just imitation?
It's a little hard for me to swallow
That all I'm choosing is whom to follow,
But that seems to me to be the case.

A sin is misrepresentation-
How many curtains remain to pull back?
It's a stable perspective I lack,
And this cannot be gained through contemplation.
I am so frustrated. And frustrated is just the right word for what I am.

The CD player in my father's car is broken, and I hate the radio, so now when I drive his car I am alone with my thoughts. And in these quiet moments my hypocrisy is realized, and my failings come through to the fore, and when I just can't take it anymore I turn the radio on, just in case. That happened today and "Let it be" was on. I feel like the electric guitar solo ruins that song.

I realize that I am just what I claim to despise, or at least what I am frustrated with in the world- is it each man's lot to be his own enemy? Probably not. Time remains to reform, but see! that's the thing: I am static. My time is uniformly wasted, and I have no claim to righteous action at any time. I feel so horrible. "Let it be" is just the wrong message, isn't it? I mean, it's a song about passivity, which is just the problem in the first place, is it not? Tell the Jews in World War Twos to "Let it be", see how far it gets them. Fucking Lennon. Fuck him.

My plan is to change. There is something new I'm trying out: Whenever I see anyone, even a stranger, I am very happy to see them. It's interesting. I like it. Perhaps through love, my position will improve? I hope so. It doesn't make sense, but, like communism, it's never really been tried, so despair would be ridiculous at this point.

Frustration with myself and with others come together- this is no coincidence.
The former is the cause, the latter the symptom. This is how it always is.
To love oneself is to fight society, because our society makes people hate themselves, or not even know themselves. It is this kind of person I wish to not become. And I am irate because it's happening anyway. If only knowing better were enough!

Just because a marionette knows it's a marionette doesn't free it from its strings. But its hands are tied! How can it cut itself away? Maybe there is no productivity. Nihilism?

But reason to get excited, the thief he kindly spoke
There are many here among us that feel that life is but a joke.

No reason to get excited. Only seventeen and a little more than a half. If I put too much pressure on myself, I'll definitely wind up a peasant. Can't let that happen. But yeah, I don't know myself yet, so how can I build on that foundation? Is this what trusting yourself means? Probably.

Okay. But see... I can't just be like "yeah. I'll wait and see what happens." IMPULSE.

All we have to fear is fear itself.

If only knowing better were enough...
Thomas Jefferson visited me in a poem:
I almost didn't know'm.
He asked me how things were these days,
But I couldn't think of the right words to say,
So I decided to just show'm.
After all, since we're in a poem,
Travels are just turns of phrase.

We walked down a road, and saw a vet'ran
Finding a meal in a garbage bin.

We traveled to the once great plains
And to the Mississippi's now dark veins.

We flew high above our greatest cities
And inside tumors, itty-bitty,
And they looked the fucking same.

We sat on my couch and watched TV
After a while he said to me
You know, in my day, I fucked some slaves
But nothing then was this depraved.

I asked if he'd like to see a show,
And he checked his sun dial said, you know
It's really time for me to go.
So he clicked his heels and off he flew
Saying you know, I pity you.

"We hold these truths to be self evident..."
I sit and wonder where those words went.
Massive thoughts make passive boys.
Passive boys don't ask the questions they're supposed to,
Don't express themselves when they should.

I smiled: "What?"

Speak your mind, you idiot!
Windows close,
Want outlasts hope and possibility.

I'll never know what to do-
One day I'll act anyway.
Thoughts - ellipse
Mind wanders slips.

What was it that I was thinking of?
Oh yeah.
With recollection comes disappointment,
and I judge myself of a few seconds ago.


When does substance begin?
Will it?
Will I know?
Should I?

What should I do now, having thought all this?
I have thinking to do.
Action later.

Forsaken folks from foreign lands stand still in circumspection;
I among them, ticker off the smells of faint affection.
Frozen feelers, feeling frozen, fooling fools into being frightened,
while tightly tightened, lightly lightened, fighting fighters lightly fightened.

Intrepid girls who know their cunts distinctly from practical use,
Are met with scorn and nasty porn when they try to protest their abuse.
Why the fuck do folks not see that things were not always this way?
And that the reason for the season is just the ability to pay?

Relationships are torn apart by bleeding hearts and money's farts.
While the rich just sit and bitch 'bout taxes when folks are fucking dying.
I see an SUV and think the driver must be rink-a-dink,
And by "rink-a-dink" I mean ignorant.

The aphorism "All we have to fear is fear itself" is only true
Because we don't know what to be afraid of, or who.
Passive minds and massive behinds are harbingers of a coming revolution.
And don't think your dicks will save you, fellas, they won't be part of the solution.


Whither comes this latest aspect?
This harkened ingenuity!
This echolalia, division, ect.
Baseless, grope idolatry!

Be this youth? Be this pride?
Be this the tooth of the divide
Between the slaves of old (of now) and me,

Who am I asking, anyway?
No matter how gre/ay, every man
Must throw up his hands.
What is not a rain dance?

This world is the bicycle to my fish.
Dish Wish. Squish.
Retarded sense of here and now,
Look up, and wow! whoa!
Die verhltnisse, die sind nicht so!

Paganism seems absurd
until one ponders alternatives-
What makes less sense than a negative surd?
Why, incentives!

Pluto was a planet, was a god,
Now its's an orb with no distinct distinction.
Lose your label, trust, et cetera,
What you left with? Minutia!

You troubled world!
I reject your sense of identity,
Your definition of obscenity,
Your offer of amenities,
And selfless, rapt serenities.

If I'm to be an entity,
truly, perhaps quite unduly
Myself, and not some Delphic
Oracle's prodigy- some strictly allegorical effigy,
Maninfestation of some corporation,
Some raging person's toothache,
Then I must cast off the brutal chains
Put on me by John Maynard Keynes
And his disciples, those archetypals,
Who are the idols of themselves.

Throw the baby out with the bathwater.

Declaration of Princles

The first premise is that there are multiple levels of consciousness.

The second premise is that, at some point, we cannot control ourselves.

I think that people are both totally control of their lives and hopelessly controlled by their circumstances. I think that the only meaning is human meaning, and I also believe that people cannot control what meaning they see.

Meaning is like taste- religion is a matter of taste, just like whether you choose to live your life believing that buying shit is the way to happiness, or making shit or writing shit. Everything is exactly the same, in that it fulfills the same desires and needs within people. Now, some involve lying and delusion, and maybe all of them do, even love. I'm still thinking about that one.

But my current point is that, like taste, values depend on what one is exposed to. There is no way that I can listen to all the music that's ever been produced, so how can I say, with certainty, that Blonde on Blonde is my favorite album? Of course I can't. Similarly, I can't think every possible thought- so how can I know that anything I think really appeals to me especially, because it's true? Or: truer than anything else? How can I believe that I am meant to think anything when my consciousness is so limited? Because of this, I ascribe things like values and taste to chance. Except...

Choice comes in: when I listen to new music, how do I choose what I want to listen to? Hmm. And, for the racist, who chooses not to talk to black people, and thus is able to have his prejudice without having to question is, choice is important, too. So, the extent to which I control my values is the extent to which I choose to expose myself to new things. As soon as values become exclusionary to new ideas, they become nonsense. Right?

Sartre says a man can be anything he wants to be. I think so, too. Attitude has a lot to do with things. But aren't emotions delusions? Isn't that the point of emotions?

The way I see it, it's coincidence that some levels of consciousness are tied to others. And also that those are tied to reality. What I mean is: at a certain level, my consciousness exists beyond my circumstance, beyond my gender, age, etc. And at another level, it's wholly defined by those things. But those levels of consciousness might have nothing to do with each other. I believe that people are multiple people, and that a man who commits murder one second can be as docile as a fieldmouse the next, without being deceptive. And so these multiple consciousnesses are tied together, against their will, and they can't be controlled. I can't help it that I feel bad when I see roadkill, or that I sometimes get erections. It's beyond my control. But in the same way, I can't help it that I can be obsessive; I can't control that I like Starry Night more than any other painting I've ever seen, or that some Sufjan Stevens song made me cry once. Or that I like certain people, and not others. But see: THIS IS WHO I AM. My identity is not mine to establish; it's a series of involuntary reactions to the world I live in, and to itself. Isn't that fucked up? This is what I really think, and think about.

Here's an example. My values are very much based on a book I read called the Brothers Karamazov, which was recommended to me by a friend who read it for a Russian literature class she takes at an arts boarding school she decided to attend after going there for summercamp after deciding she wanted to be a painter after wanting to be an actress and before she decided she wanted to be a writer. Look at all those steps needed for me to have the values I do. What nonsense, for me to stick to them, or think they're special. But see: just because I am aware of the transience of my values doesn't make me believe in them any less. I still think the thoughts of the book when I see certain things; the concept of responsibility is very important to me. Just being aware that you're being affected doesn't "account" for that affect, or make you free. I am helpless to what I have been exposed to.

At the same time, I believe in active identity- I believe that individualism exists- after all, people's involuntary reactions differ, are special. The only way to not have an identity is to try to control it.

Seek the man who seeks the truth, but go away from the man who claims to have found it. I think Abraham Lincoln said that.