Wanting to appear strong, like the asshole that takes all shit. The internet behind these screens, all these tubes, the ultimate vector through which we prostrate ourselves madly, sick little sheepies behind cadaverous 2-d veneers, mouths moving backwards "to hell with it". Come One, Come All -- A slinky whisper down the stairs.
If something happens and there is no documentation, did it ever happen? Was Spinoza right when he suggested that nothing ends? Does each moment continue on, seamlessly frozen to moving time? With no one to watch, no one to agree or condemn, no one to pat our little back and tell us how neat our efforts. Are they still efforts? This troubles me. I remind myself that what ever will happen will happen. Everything is ready. My fingernails are so long they snag my fly when i go to zip my jeans.