I wish someone would explain to me how love is something more than an escape, something other than an escape. The immanence of my life takes on much more gravity in my aloneness. I get lost in others' suffering - I confuse it with mine. I have yet to experience a feeling of love that leads toward a feeling of a deeper sense of self, rather than a deeper sense of responsibility and exhaustion.

I'm not really saying that I'm bitter - this is more of a dumbfoundedness. Am I really so engaged in the Great Internal and the sweltering exigent structural conditionality of our time that finding continual deep connections with other individuals is at best a mirage? How is it that I am so likeable? I shouldn't be likeable at all considering the weight of the thoughts grinding through me.

That's what people don't understand when they chat with me. The difficulty in acting normal, well-adjusted. It is difficult to say "hello" to people. It is difficult to idly pass the time with chit-chat. It takes so much exertion, and thinking of this exertion makes me feel more alien.

I'm starting to think more of what could happen to me if I end up spending the rest of my life alone. I'm starting to think more about the things that I've let limit me, what I am responsible for, and what I was to accomplish. I'm not really thinking about happiness, because happiness is secondary to living with meaning and purpose.

Ever notice how the word compromise has different meanings? For instance, when you compromise with someone else you each find something that you can be happy with or at least live with. But when the structural integrity of something is compromised, that means it is liable to collapse.

I feel quite certain, despite all of this, that my writing really doesn't enamour anyone to me - and quite likely, this is intentional on my part. It is safer to give off the vibe of "stay away!" - not to mention that I feel disdain for the idea of making myself more accessible, loveable, etc... that kind of attention seems to only lead toward disappointing others. It is less disappointing to realize from the start what I have to offer - which is likely a big reason why after all of these years I have so few readers here.

My blog is the electronic equivalent of a ghost town, or maybe more aptly, a border town on the frontier. Lost in the weeds and the train doesn't come near here at all. In fact, the tracks haven't even been laid down yet. Why would you come here? Why the hell would you?