everyone is perfect already. that's the secret.

everything is what you make of it, and wonderful. people are suffering, but they don't have to. the things you do only have meaning as far as other people are concerned. in the end though, no dice.

why think about anything other than what it feels like to kiss someone for the first time? to wake up with the sun shining on your face? to pee after you've had to for a long long time? it's all we are, and it's wonderful. our illusions hold us back, but if you recognize them as illusions, it doesn't matter. we aren't ever conscious.

i plan to work for what i perceive as the embetterment of my life. my idea of what my life is changes, but i know others are involved, and i know that there is nothing special about me other than that i'm always following myself around. i know i fall into traps a lot, having to do with how i have been taught to do things, say things. sometimes these things hurt others. i wish they didn't, but right now there's nothing i can do about that. and even if there is, i'm not doing it, which is the same thing.

there is no choice. you can only watch what's on. there's never anything good on, but sometimes there is. remember what it's like to turn on the tv and realize that what happens to be on is just what you wanted to be on, but didn't know it? well, another person just turned on the tv, too, and they couldn't bear to watch what you'd love to. maybe there's nothing on tv they want to watch. oh well.

even the worst things aren't bad. if someone wanted to torture me for the rest of my life, i would let them. i'm not going to go looking for them, but if someone barged in with a gimp suit i would go with them. except that i don't think anyone's better of for murder, or rape. it really doesn't matter. at the end of the day, there you are, thinking about what you've done, and every feeling is worth the same. there are regrets and hopes for all of us, and even though we experiene different things, we're the same. it's sad, in a way, that people are sad. but in another way, it doesn't matter, because it's all just existence anyway. life is not sacred, love is not special. it just feels that way because we are what we are. we can't help that, and we should embrace it, but then again, it's possible to be other things. this is evidenced by the fact that there are other things. a lot of other things. the horsehead nebula doesn't give a rat's ass about me, and that's okay, because neither do i, and that's okay, too. because of to whom i was born, my life has a certain starting place and ending place. i have no more or less choice than anyone else. because it's not just that i have a different perspective than other people: i live in a different world. what's beautiful with when, for a limited amount of time, my world intersects with another person's. but even if that never happened, it would be beautiful that my world ever existed at all.

you've just got to be ready to die. if you're ready to die, no one can do anything to you. the kingdom of god is at hand. it doesn't matter if you're a bad public speaker, if there's nothing you feel is special about you. i feel the same way. we all just do what we have to, and for me, right now, that's typing this. and, in a moment, it'll be hitting "publish post" and then going back to what i was doing, which is watching men in black and waiting until three am so i can text my girlfriend who lives in california "i'll see you tomorrow! :)" because on monday i'm flying out to see her, and i want to wait until it's true for her, too. that's all there is for me, right now. tomorrow there will be other things, and maybe i'll even get mad tomorrow. but then i'll think about what i'm writing and have been writing now, and i'll know: there is no truth. and hey, that's a paradox. and that's okay, because there's no reason why it shouldn't be. everything's a paradox. and that's okay. why expect meaning? or happiness? or that anyone will ever read this?