Saturday, February 21, 2004

I'm going to stop. I sent an beautifully long ramble about emergence and "Nesting" and modelibility and I have no idea what else to my Hotmail account, it didn't recognize the email address, it sat in my wastebasket and was erased. I will ramble about my growing doubt that it matters that I think, what I think, what place it or I have in the world if it goes so unheard as to be become deleted by my virtual "self"....I could die. I have honestly nothing to look forward to. I at least thought I could have saved the thing for myself, I'd worked for about 2 hours on it after deleting the original then having to remember it. but no. I sent it to myself, and whatever filters decided to work when they accepted the email address before deemed it deletable. I could die. I could so die. It was such a pregnant ramble, something I could really have worked from. I could so freaking die, but like my thoughts, just more water down the Cosmic drain, undistinguishable from so much other water, why do I think it matters to anyone but me? Why do I think I bother to anyone but me and my mommy?


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