Saturday, July 01, 2006


Somewhere along the line, I'm happy with myself now. Except when I'm being yelled at, or something like that. I'm not a happiness generating machine. But somehow, I'm happy with myself and I love the world because everything is perfect and inperfection just is how it is and can't be any other way because it is perfect. Thinking it should be any other way makes it an imperfect thought, which is also perfect, because there's no such thing as imperfection as long as things are the way they are.

If that made sense.

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