Every time I go to write in this, I think I have something to say, but then I open a new entry and all that fills my mind is the blank space that lies ahead. It’s not that I have nothing to say, it’s that I lack the words to express myself. All that I have to do is pour out the internal dialogue that fills my head day in and day out, but when I really try to put it to text, I realize just how lame and uninteresting it really is. I generally don’t like to give the details about what I did with myself lately like where I’ve been or what I’ve been doing because most of the time those are just the trivial details that every other person writes about. That shit is just straight up boring. Unless I do something really awesome like sky diving or getting in a fight with some random celebrity (let’s say Tony Danza), I’m probably not going to write about it ’cause who really gives a shit about what the names of the people I hung out with yesterday, how wasted I was all weekend (which I can’t remember too much of to write about anyhow), or what I fucking ate today? Not that anyone cares about what I write anyhow, but I just the same try to focus on something a little more enduring than just simple dates, names, and places. I’m not saying that I’m trying to be profound or any of that other pretentious bullshit. I just want to say something about me, personally; something that you might not see about me just by a simple conversation with me; something, that perhaps, borders closely with what makes me different from everyone else. I don’t have any illusions about being unique or somehow separate from the rest of the societal masses. On the contrary, I believe myself to be quite very much the same as everyone else. However, the order of the events of my life and the perspective I view these events is unique. I suppose it is only in this respect that I can truly call myself unique. I view the world in a shell which no one else enters in a spatial coherence to which no one else ever occupies or even follows. Behind about 2 millimeters of skin, we are all alone. How much difference can a half of an inch really make? What is kept in this shell that is different from anyone else? What is here that is not out there? Sometimes I think there is nothing in me that is any different than what is in everyone else. Other times I think there is nothing outside of me that has anything in it that is at all like what I am inside. I suppose this is the human condition. To be completely different from everything and exactly the same all at the same time is part of what it is to exist. Biologically we’re the same, physically we are just varying models of the same piece of flesh, mentally we follow in much the same tracks as those before us and those around us, and spiritually we are all faithful or faithless and no matter which side we fall on, there are a million reasons to change our minds. So what is it to be me? The truth is I don’t know and I will never know. All I can say is that I am and that no one else is me. Whether that means I am separate, or that I am somehow connected to everyone else, one thing is certain and that is that no one can tell me the answer. It looks like I did finally find something to say. But who really gives a shit? I’m not even sure that I really do. How can I complain that no one listens to me when I really have nothing to say anyway? Fuck. I guess I'm just a babbling idiot and YOU wasted your time reading about it. I guess the jokes on you then. Thats all I've got. Fuck off.