It's a low

That's the thing that pushes your head into the ground. That's the thing that wills you to loose yourself. That's the thing that attempts to force you into doing something stupid, but what is it caused by? This is what confuses me. It should be caused by a run of times or a loss of energy, but neither of these seem to be the true case.
What am I saying? I'm saying that I'm not tired. I could say that time is the cause, but that would be too pre-destinationlike of me. I really don't believe in pure destiny; I believe you choose where you go no matter what, but the strategy you choose to execute is the what makes the difference, what changes your destiny in other words. I used a pretty interesting strategy a few tens of hours ago, and it worked really well. I don't think it's stopped working, so I think its still working, but at a lower tone. I need to up the tone somehow, get inspiration, but how. I guess writing down some words in a long and unarranged blogpost may do it. That's why I'm doing this, at least in my mind right now, for it may change by the time I reach the end, or even the middle. This is only the beginning, and beginnings are always kind of awkward unless you do this sort of thing for a living, which I obviously don't.

The way of power is great and fun, but I want something more. I want love. I want to feel what it feels like to be loved. Whenever I do an act of charity, I feel better, kind of like paulsego I suppose, because I picture the person who gets the benefits of that. The acts of charity I do, however, are not nearly as official as most. Indeed, they're more like boyscout deeds than anything else, yet they give me happiness, joy that can't really be experienced any other way.

Am I wrong? I'm never wrong, am I? What is up? I need to type some filler, so this post appears longer than it actually is. I need to write my posts in good full sentences though. I need to chew the words in my brain and spit them out, so teethless you can devour them in one gulp. I need to eat some other words and digest them for myself. I really need to have a why. Why don't I have a good why right now? I really need to know the answer. It's like that why goes away from me, man. It's like it's trying to avoid me or something. I wonder why it feels that it needs to do that so much. I mean: I think I have something to say that isn't quite as worthless as it sounds at the end of time.

What does time even mean? I 'm trying to disable one of my judgements based on this criterion because all it does is cause me misery, so wish me luck on that. I think it's some sort of chemical brain reaction that actually can, all on its own, be disabled. Isn't that interesting? I think I was able to disable it for a short time last night, but then it turned on again somehow, or did it? I really don't know, but I'm going to assume the positive news and say that it actually didn't re-enable itself. Perhaps it, rather, is having its own struggle keeping from doing this action. I don't really know. I'm talking in very obscure blabla, by the way, because I don't feel like talking in any other way.

You don't have to read this because going through the process of writing it and imagining you read it gives me enough pleasure to last a lifetime. Am I lying? I guess that's really up to me and how I accept the gifts that I get. I need to think and be and want just like the rest of you, but I also need to know why, don't I? I guess the repetitiveness of these words is finally getting to the small amount of readership I've gotten, so it's just you and me alone again, brain.

How are you doing? I heard you broke some ground on that problem we were addressing; in fact, I actually felt you break that ground, good job. How long do you think it will take you to finish the job? Do you need my help with anything? I guess not. He never answers. Huh.

The sky is blue today because its summer in California, but I am not blue. I feel pretty good right now actually. Am I cheered up because of this? Not really. I am more cheered up because for the first time since this problem has shown itself, I have found a solution that brings about actual results. For the first time, man, isn't that wonderful? I need to write this down in my little notebook. Oh, wait, this is my little notebook, silly me.

Anyways, I really feel like I'm making more progress than I have in a while and if I look at my progression bar as a whole, I see that my progress is headed in the right direction, so yay for me.

The way to truth is through the forest of lies, perhaps. I don't really know, but I have feelings about it. Have you ever gone on a search for truth? Speaking of this elusive element of search, do you consider truth to be an object, a treasure chest that one finds like Socrates, or do you think of it as an organic being, a beautiful woman playing hard to get like Nietzsche? I am curious. Please say what you think of truth in the comments.

Umm, I'm really getting blank signals here. This is difficult because I feel like I'm doing the wrong thing when I'm doing this, but maybe if I thought differently, I would be doing the right thing. It's strange how writing something down suddenly makes you happy, or at least gives you some sort of fullilment more than any reading can ever do. Well, not any reading, if you're reading something really hard to understand, and you finally get it, that feels really good too. I can say whatever I want to say in this paragraph because it's a junk paragraph that has nothing but filler, but I do need to annunciate. Otherwise, I won't be heard in this little word bath of pleasure.

Hey metaphors are fun, lets try some of those. This world is a bathhouse filled with tokens and money, but to the workers, no one gets any fun. No dice, eh? Lets try again:

I am a nintendo, while you're a playstation; we may be different and have different ways of addressing things, and one of us may be stronger than the other, but we are still both game consoles. Heh heh heh. Slightly better, I would say.

Now I'm done, I guess, unless my fingers keep on typing. Man this is fun. Typing nothing on a blog about nothing with a keyboard that really does nothing. I never knew a fireman, so I can't talk about what it's like to save someone. I've only seen a few episodes of Rescue Me, and those few episodes didn't have much saving too them. Hmmm, that might be the problem. Sorry, not Rescue Me, but the thing I just thought of but don't feel like typing out. I think I'll try it, whatever it is. Maybe I'm just going through, yeah, that could definitely be it, but it doesn't explain much about the other thing, now does it. I'm sorry that you don't understand me, by the way.

I don't know; the shield may be able to get up. I don't need to tell you how it works, for you already know part of its peace. Heh. I'm typing jibberish, aren't I? Well, what is the way to get results? Now I really dont' feel like typing, for my mind is telling me that something new is approaching that has high chances of saving my butt. Yeah, I didn't say ass; who cares? I need to go get some tea; I need to rest.

Well, that's that. I'm gonna go talk to Daisy for a little while. Bye.

Bye again because of lameness.

Ciao!