i'm finding it increasingly difficult to find original things to say. [hell, i think i've even said this before.] give me a reason to keep writing. perhaps -if you have at any point read something that affected the way you think - if only for a moment - you might throw me a line via e-mail and help me think this is worth my time and energy.

[i think all hardcore d-lander's reach this stage at one point or another. appease me?]

here - i sit at my computer. fidgeting. unfocusing. knowing. that this entry is going to be crap but hitting keys anyways. because isn't there a chance it just might turn into SOMETHING? i'm not original on-line. i'm calculated. i have time to think things through. i have time to re-arrange my paragraphs, check my sentence structure, go through spelling mistakes. [i make a lot of spelling mistakes.] but nobody would know that because everything everybody gets is an edited version. it has been formulated and filtered. i can't write worth shit. i am a horrible writer. all i do is take the letters and line them all up. and if it doesn't quite fit i line them up again. and so on and so forth until it reads somewhat convincingly.

[have i got you convinced?]

i am a fuck-nut. i'm nimrod. i am another part of the congealed mass of 'what you see is never what you get'. but still - i am brilliant. i am incredible. and 'you' recognizing that in me is only you beginning to discover it in yourself. the biggest fault you could commit at this point would be to assume that you are not capable of such things. that my gifts somehow surpass your own. the only difference between me and anybody is that i know i can do it. that i have done it. that i am being myself. i am ascending towards my highest imagining's - actualized.

[we are not unique. thank god.]

i have to ask my dad for a loan today - because i can't exist in this environment and still remain happy and healthy - and i lack sufficient funds of any sort. this isn't going to be pleasant. at least not on my [begging] end of things.