I have been seized by a rather sensational verbosity, suffering from foaming logorrhea.

I am dismayed by how few people [seem to be] interested in ethics.

Why do I get obsessive and compulsive when I meet [someone] I really like?

Can’t I ever be happy?

[It’s] like [there’s] a wall of ice encasing my heart. I really can’t figure out how I feel any more.

Hopefully this will be enough, these mad sessions of scribbling can make up for all the things I have renounced. Shit, it’s not like they’re forcing me to join the military so I can learn to kill people. It’s not like they’re even forcing me, period. If I sit down long enough, I wonder if I will really attain something as satisfying anyway.

I am only responsible for myself and for my family, foremost, and for anyone whom I have sworn mutual allegiance to.

I dreamt of home, and of the Bay again. That’s all I remember. I remember wailing about doing things I didn’t want to do. But [I did] them anyway. How futile.

Can I be brave? In a cowardly way? Like Yossarian, Tyler Durden, Winston? [Maybe what we call] bravery is [really] just [striving between the opposing impulses of] vainglory and cowardice. There is no honor, only an attempt at making sense of things. Of understanding an [“objective”] reality. Step by step.

Oh yeah, I was thinking: the Tao can’t help me now. Doing this really seems to be the path of least resistance/greatest harmony. And yet allopathic medicine seems to be completely at odds with Taoism. There is nothing “natural” about it at all. It is all about intervention.

Can I (dare I) do anything?

What could I ever offer.

What you see is what you get. There are no great mysteries about my existence.

I want to yell, and I want people to listen.

Guide me. I can’t do this alone.

Am I truly being consoled by the voices in my head?

Enough madness.