Pilferers.

I guess you could say I've taken to an envy (once again). And once again, of photographers. Who can (quite literally, I guess) single-handedly snatch the living things of the living moments (even with the inanimate)--artifacts, I suppose, to be delegated to blogs and professional websites and large canvas prints and so on and so forth. Even the repulsive is made righteous. Or maybe I just enjoy jesting with the willingly deceived. Are visual artists thieves of what already is?

I'm out of place. Well, my regards to today. The bottom line is, I feel unclean. I feel very unclean. Compulsiveness may be the root cause. And an indirect cause of an already premature widdling away of the keys to that awe-inspired, golden triangle of self-actualization. Who knows where it'll get you.

I've washed my hands often today. And I've probably wasted all too many paper towels. Yes, I have. Indeed, and all the while watching a documentary on a sort-of anti-consumerism, environmentalist, go green! experiment. I'm not too sure how I feel yet. Generally.

I'm just getting by again. Just barely. I don't know if I like it or not. Trying not to care about people. Apathy might be the word for it. I constantly find myself subjected to an unmeasurable bit of guilt, to push the externally in-reaching to the recesses of a bitter indifference. I don't know if I'd call it indifference, actually. Perhaps just a distance. Maybe happiness is nothing. And the very opposite of that is the only thing that we have by which to weigh it.

In various manners, I think I've been quite reminded of what I've been, for quite some time, trying to elude. It's too much, I have reason to believe, for me to be normal with human contact, to regard it as an actual need. We're too much inclined to translate supposed needs into excuses. Or perhaps I am asking too much. I don't know. But I'll risk that much (to be denied the satisfaction). We'll see.

Anyhow, I am in high doubts, now, that food or villainous little children or my new Twilight-Meyers-Harry Potter consumed friend or waking up at seven tomorrow will fill this transient happiness. Sadness. Emptiness. Whichever it is. It's always manifested again in such a way that it's the same thing by a different mechanism. Well, kind of anyway.

Now, to the existence and prevalence of common sense.