anon

["eccentric and pretentious..."]

At the time of this writing, I know that I don’t necessarily know what it is that I think I know.

At the time of this writing, there are still forces in the universe I do not understand.  Their whims, their almost imperceptible moods continue to influence my environment in ways I cannot comprehend.

At the time of this writing, I await that one person who, by her nature, can bring an extra dimension of meaning to my life, without fear of letting me know when I’m totally full of crap.

At the time of this writing, I am vaguely aware of the responsibilities I have taken upon myself, and spend the effort available in handling them, regardless of whether or not I want to.

At the time of this writing, there are more judges apparent than those who are judged.  Can we not, as a species, just leave each other alone already?

At the time of this writing, my disdain for commercialism and corporate greed has reached a pivotal point that can lead down two paths visible to me:  apathy or insanity.  I’ll take the former, and screw the latter.

At the time of this writing, I know that the stars are up there, even when the sun’s light blocks them from my view.  The most consistency I can ever count on comes from this notion.

At the time of this writing, my head hurts, but not from physical injury, as none occurred (that I’m aware of).  It is unlike most headaches in that it could be projected entirely from my own imagination.  Curious.

At the time of this writing, I hold high hopes for the future, while keeping my feet grounded in the fickle sludge that is currently humanity and society.

At the time of this writing, my damage is evident, and repairs are underway.

At the time of this writing, I’m not really here.

At the time of this writing, it’s the writing this time.