Monsters do exist.

I'm not guessing sleep is coming. Sometimes it does and other times it's just midnight all night. Tonight, well, I guess is the latter.

I wish I felt less. I wish I didn't feel so very wrapped up in myself and selfish in the way I'm conservative, resistant to change, needing to be heard. I hate a lot about myself. No news.

I can't always control the way I feel but I do have complete control over actions and I can be a better person being a little quieter. If there wasn't the expectation that anyone else be vocal or demonstrative or emotional or concessional to my feelings then I would be easier. In lieu of having such adult feelings I can fake them.

I'll be less intense. I'll try to hear what's being said and what my friends are feeling. I need to better adapt the precept of burning myself up completely in everything I do. Have the selfless focus that leaves no trace of myself.

Fuck. I can't even say this right. I really thought this would help, but it just leaves me lonely. It's entirely possible that the history of language is the story of isolation. That all words carry the precise opposite of what we have them for. We want ropes. We want small, comfortable rooms and bridges and we continually find open spaces and too many choices. I want a direct line and I just find a guy screaming into some incredible vacuum.

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