"I've read [well known, controversial, your-run-of-the-mill, challenges society kind of book]." a person says during a conversation.

"Oh well, congratulations. Did you enjoy it much?" I ask.

"Yeah, I found that it [goes on describing it as though it more than a book, its a feeling to them. Hand gestures ensue, and if not, words do what they can to substitute]. I enjoyed it very much. Have you read it yourself?"

"I have not."

"Have you read [another similarly well known, challenge to society book]?"

"I haven't read that either."

"Do you read much?"

"No. Not fictional literature at least."

"Why not? You seem like an intelligent person."

"Well, I certainly read a lot of Scientific American, New York Times, and so on. Non-fiction primarily."

"Oh."

"Why do you ask?"

"No reason. Um, do you have any favorite bands? Mine is [esoteric internet band]. I find them [new, strange, intelligent, high-browed, distinct, anything but common-place]. I think you should listen to them, you'd really like them."

"Well, I haven't heard of them myself. I mainly listen to The Beatles, Pink Floyd and The Doors. And Public Access' jazz music."

The other person is excited. They listen to those bands as well. They continue to lead the discussion, talking about interpretations, thoughts of their own, and the like. I decide to entertain them as not to appear rude and at various points present genuine ideas and talking points of my own, as not to force the discussion into awkward silences.

I can relate to most of the people that share similar interests as I do, but I continue to feel separated from them as these interests at the same time. I understand the desire to change, and break free from the perceived constraints of society, your parents, and yourself. But at what point do we finally understand who we are, where we ant to be and what we ant to do?

For many, it seems that they've at one point or another, took radical steps to change themselves or their environment, only to regret the length of time since they felt stable, or regret having changed so much so fast that the only memories they hold best are those with the very influences they rebelled against, and decide to calm down, and grow conservative with their actions. Its not that I have the fear that I'll at one point grow old and bitter, but that I'll miss out on an opportunity to see who I am, what I like, and where I'm going without falling victim to the flowing currents of trends, and the natural tendency to change, perpendicular the influence around us, in an evolutionary sense, and knowing that I'm not changing arbitrarily, but following natural paths of success and peace of mind.

I’ve grown frustrated with feeling smart, if at least being smart compared to those around me, or attempting at being smarter than those who know more than I do. Enjoying something that’s popular isn’t fulfilling enough. I need to know what others don’t. But knowing trivial facts isn’t enough. There needs to be something significant about what you know. Is it art? What about it is there that’s not well known? Subtlety is key.

You get to a point that trying to find the most moving piece of music, film or even videogame becomes your goal (for me at least it seemed). You mock (in your head at least) the intelligence of others, their lack of knowledge, and anything that separates you from them, because to you, you’re better, you’re more refined, dignified, and this is what people are after all along you assume.

Even when it gets to the point I reject emotions, their worth to society, music, the arts, and decide that efficiency is the ultimate goal, if not predictable outcome, as a nihilist, an Atheist, you’re still a rebel, looking for meaning. You’re simply rearranging the deck chairs on the Titanic that is the underlying problem to things for you.

I’m depressed most likely. I’ve lost a lot, and its only natural I assume. Death is a complex situation. For some, it’s a sense of loss, not that of weight, but the feeling similar to vacuum pressure acting on its surrounding. There is a demand to fill the void, and one their best over time.

Imagine a painting, and suddenly, and area goes white. Without the aid of additional paint to patch up what’s missing (which otherwise wouldn‘t look the same anyway, as the new paint would be a shade or two different, and you‘ll pinpoint its location as the artist because you know where the patch is, and why its there, regardless of the lack of awareness exhibited in others of the patch), I’m having to use what paint I’ve already used on the painting itself to fill in the area, and as a result, the painting dulls, and looses any crispness.

I have no fears of furthered depression, or any associated risk thereof, but of an increasing apathy. To stand up, and feel no gravity. To see things without any personal significance or meaning. For the environment around me to exist as-is.

Its funny to think that I might be growing increasingly religious, if at least spiritual. If anything, love and happiness are the virtues to life that we need to grow and give. I think I may be tired of pursuing things in life which I think will only give me an advantage which I assume further will make me happy. But in all reality, happiness is easy to find. The difficulty for me is being able to share that happiness. I must learn to be more selfless and committed to the needs of others than deriving happiness from others, assuming they‘ll make up for the loss elsewhere, which seems to be the root to a lot of problems.

It’s getting late. Good night.