It's never gonna be all right.

The problem I have with overly optimistic philosophies is that it seems to discount the seriousness of human suffering. I mean, seriously, try getting someone who, after 10 grueling years of intensive chemo, followed by an equally grueling course of bone marrow transplant complicated by graft-vs-host disease, just had a relapse of leukemia—try getting them to watch “The Secret” and see how perverse and even insulting that is.

My mind has been everywhere today. I suppose one of the good things about getting older is that there is a wider field for my brain to wander. I could probably keep myself usefully amused for several days just letting my thoughts meander.

so I watched 2046 with BD today at the Sunshine Theaters. it wasn't what I was expecting, but I found myself engrossed by it anyway. the protagonist is a writer who churns out smutty science fiction. the time frame is the late 1960s. the setting is hong kong. he is a seriously damaged character, basically unwilling to let himself get attached to anyone, and even when he realizes what he's doing, he just lets it tragically go on anyway, resigning himself to eternal loneliness.

In some ways, Gotham has been on my consciousness for a slightly longer time than the Windy City has. The first time I came out here was in January 1993, and from what I remember, it was not yet fully Giulianified. Me and others from my high school were only there for a night, I think, on an East Coast college tour. I remember being cold, staying in a place infested with roaches, with holes in the walls where some guy on probably PCP decided to take out his aggression on the building. Ah, those were the days.

I just spent a ridiculous amount of time cleaning up the spoor of some spambots targetting Blosxom blogs. I have enlisted the help of Doug Alcorn's modified writeback plug-in and his spam killing tools. We'll see if I can stop these dirty bastards.

I don't know about this (see the second to the last paragraph.) I think that, over time, irrational behavior is increasingly irrational, and rational behavior becomes irrational. (Entropy always wins.) In the end, it's all meaningless chaos. Or as Douglas Adams put it (in my quite oblique interpretation of his quote):

Self-pity at 4 a.m. Yes, I could’ve gone home, and none of this would’ve ever happened.

Let's talk about loneliness. It is, after all, [redacted]'s birthday, two years since my debacle. I still love her, if you can call my mania love. But I don't know what the point of this is. I suppose I miss the idea of being loved, of being important, in a unique way, to one person alone.

Been a while since I've actually written down stuff. I suppose everything is in full swing now—the book is begun, I've a better idea of what I want to do with my life, finals are in a couple of weeks. It's actually quite frightening—as if I never have enough time.