the questionable establishment

2000.11.30

I grow tired of the unthinking, uncaring masses of today. They don't know who I am, nor do they care to know. And yet I'm forced to ask myself... does it matter? They switch locations from minute to minute, gossiping away their lives in a cloud of condensed opium madness, without giving thought to anything inside of anyone else. Truth? That... is a search. I've been absolved, I believe. And if what I believe is what is true, then I have been absolved, unless I begin to doubt. But can I be absolved of this resentment I feel toward those people I consider friends, fellow humans and contenders in this same life-race? I am... pretentious. I am not better than them, and I've never even given thought to it, except in my subconsious. I am pretentious, but at least I know myself. I discovered this last night, while dancing with an iris in a daze of self-knowledge. Leaina-arni. The lioness-lamb. One who favors Thorn, the gateway to new things, and has found her soul transposed into music by a random act of Fate. Such a discovery can give nothing but joy, right? I think not. The very core of being human is feeling everything, knowing everything that it is possible to know, and being everything that it is possible to be. This includes great joy, it is true. But it also includes great sorrow, and at times a great infusion of mind-chaos termed madness. But that is what being is. Perhaps I should keep this discovery to myself, though it's the most obvious thing in the world when you think about it. Perhaps it would be too revealing. And yet, then there's the idea of revealing everything I am to everyone who would read, everyone who would accept. I need to be less touchy. I need to open and callous.