I get kind of sad when I talk to someone who is both in grad school and engaged. There is some weird sort of finality there, like, “Well, I’m done!”

(And here someone could (accurately) make the joke that just about everything makes me “kind of sad”.)

still lookin for my garth algar~

the goal of every human should be to reduce the amount of suffering there is, or at least not contribute to it

“if you can do no good, then for god’s sake, at least do no harm”

people “go shopping”

When I walk past three or four men in their mid- to late-twenties I feel a sort of dread in the center of my stomach that is unlike anything else

I absolutely hate the Bay Area and I can’t wait to leave it

i am tired of beautiful people

I feel so far away from them, on the top of this hill. It seems as though I belong to a different species. They come out of their offices after their day of work, they look at the houses and the squares with satisfaction, they think it is their city, a good, solid, bourgeois city. They aren’t afraid, they feel at home. All they have ever seen is trained water running from taps, light which fills bulbs when you turn on the switch, half-breed bastard trees held up with crutches. They have proof, a hundred times a day, that everything happens mechanically, that the world obeys fixed, unchangeable laws. In a vacuum all bodies fall at the same rate of speed, the public park is closed at 4 p.m. in winter, at 6 p.m. in summer, lead melts at 335 degrees centigrade, the last streetcar leaves the Hotel de Ville at 11.05 p.m. They are peaceful, a little morose, they think about Tomorrow, that is to say, simply, a new today; cities have only one day at their disposal and every morning it comes back exactly the same. They scarcely doll it up a bit on Sundays. Idiots. It is repugnant to me to think that I am going to see their thick, self-satisfied faces. They make laws, they write popular novels, they get married, they are fools enough to have children. And all this time, great, vague nature has slipped into their city, it has infiltrated everywhere, in their house, in their office, in themselves. It doesn’t move, it stays quietly and they are full of it inside, they breathe it, and they don’t see it, they imagine it to be outside, twenty miles from the city. I see it, I see this nature . . . I know that its obedience is idleness, I know it has no laws: what they take for constancy is only habit and it can change tomorrow.

Man talk about reading something that I’ve already heard in my own brain a billion times

dear lord: i apologize in advance if my final words end up being “’bout damn time!!!!!!!!”