one of the greatest ironies of my life is that i am such an abject perfectionist, but my life is far from perfect, and yet i haven't taken any sort of steps to bring me any closer to a desired state. what the fuck is that, anyway? is there really something, or am i truly doomed to be a conscious glutten for punishment?

and yet, i look upon people with such contempt, people who self-analyze and self-depricate and commit acts of ego-suicide. it's a wonder how i get along with myself.

i guess that's more than one irony to consider.

and i hate the way people use words, and i know everyone hates the way i use them too. we can mutually agree to disagree with one another, although in the back of my mind and yours we're all thinking, "fuck it, i'm right." that's the trouble with the english language; what can you say or not say that will not make you a phonie, a flake, a prick, a square, a bitch, a cunt, an asshole, or an etcetera or etcetera or etcetera?

you can't please everyone, and for that matter, and for myself personally, it's much easier to say everyone is a sack of worthless shit. everyone is wrong. no one is right. no one can even begin to have a fucking clue.

and yet, i find truth in books, music, and movies that carry love and optimism? how does that work?

and yet, i care that you care. i care enough to spell out these things for you, dear reader. that's how much i care.

that sounded somewhat condescending, but it wasn't supposed to.

i care for this whole goddamn world, i swear to God. i even capitalized "God," to show that i'm not an athiest, because in my experience, athiests never have the right idea - and they're stupid too.

they really are.