cry your eyes out, stupidface

go on.


everytime i think i'm going to write something here, my brain starts prattling on about sociology and human potential and cynicism and the flexibility to see things from a new angle. i start to type
and i laugh at the onionskin irony of my vision conveyed to the wrong audience via the wrong medium, blogging on about the goofy pointless sad things people do instead of all the worthwhile goofy pointless things that could be making people happier, a crystal case for my ego, like thinking about a zen koan.

and i wonder if people would be happier living in jungle trees or on the moon. and if there's any difference.
i think i believe in fate, but i don't believe it's predetermined. busy busy busy