I Don't Laugh That Much, But I

I Didn't Think I Was In A Morbid Mood, But It Appears I Am. My Mind Goes Round And Round Trying To Figure Things Out, But I Always Come Back To The Same Two Things: Loneliness And Death. Life Ends Before We Figure Anything Out, Most Importantly How Not To Be Lonely. Solitude Is Fine. But Feeling Like You Have No One To Love - Abject Lonliness - Is Not Alright.

I Don't Really Know The Person Who Wrote The Things I Wrote. I Kind Of Know Him, But I Change So Much All The Time That It's Like I Start Fresh Over And Over And Over And Over. Writing-wise And Life-wise.

The Work Changes The Way Your Face Changes And Ages - It Just Does. Also, I Have Very Little Connection To Anything I've Written. I Move On. We All Move On

I Need To Stay In The Present And Use That New-age Mantra: 'i'm Okay Right Now.' But I Worry About All The Things I'm Failing At Every Moment.

Nothing Wrong With Changing Your Mind. That's A Very Unwaffling Thing To Say: "nothing Wrong..." Who Am I To Say That There's Nothing Wrong With It? Maybe Something Is Wrong With Changing Your Mind. Anyway, Love Is Very, Very Difficult. I Love. But Probably Because I Hate Myself On Some Deep, Sick Level, It Makes Loving Difficult. But I Do Try.