here's something I wrote the other day. I don't really know why I chose to put this particular one here, exactly. I just felt like including one of my scribbles, and if it seems disjointed, or makes no sense,.. then whatever. :-p "Let me clue you in: I NEVER know what I’m doing least of all now I can never “act naturally”- I always have to put up a front doing, or saying anything to you is a front because I am only doing it for and because of you. merely my reaction to your self. That is not me, because I would not and could not do that by my self. without you I would live only. there is nothing revealing in subsistance. The real me is silent and does nothing to note. How then could you ever observe it? (and how is it that "actions speak louder than words", when the speaking of words is itself an action? :-p) For those who yet have the luck to like me: I am not nice. I am selfish. Every good act is not of myself, but purposed, planned outside of my ways I can’t go out of my way for you forever- If I keep traveling long enough, I’ll round the globe and return again. If not, I have only decided I’m not going out of my way anymore." I like scribbling.. "Blank paper shines to me moonlike in the dark its needs a face a great face I can’t sleep and I can’t do what I want or even need but my life has not yet begun so it’s all right I will sit and languish- still like I always have While my mind goes on and drives me mad with dreams and thoughts upon the things that never happen In this false half-life"