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| September 15, 2002
, 8:22 AM |
Like a palimpsest of emotions rewritten with every notable experience and affected by every little perception given to perpetration by life, my psyche keeps changing with just the constant of existence to comfort and at times torture it. The dispiriting aspect of existence is the fact that everything felt and thought is already hackneyed by the collective or individual experiences of a million (or one) individuals before. “That really does not make it any less real” you might argue. Really? I don’t know about you my dear unrequited lover of life but I have been experiencing the same things over and over and over and over again and the law of diminishing marginal utility seems to the only other constant apart from existence.
I derive unholy, hedonistic, unadulterated delight in making complicated sentences that border on (the other side of) nonsense in the guise of profoundness and that is the only reason I wrote the previous paragraph (I am trying to be honest here so help me god).
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