I sit here with my old dog, getting closer to eternity all the time, and it gets very depressing. What can I do? I had high hopes in myself and in the idea of an "us" over the past couple of years. It seemed we all did. But what does an evil old recluse do now that he's finally made it to his destination? Now that he's finally there in a crowd of strangers and he's hurt the one person who swore she'd never hurt him? Just sit and be evil? This is something quite difficult for any human, I imagine, unless he is an adept at evil and a 'made-man'.
The lack of overhead light lends a special dreary look to my bedroom. I'm surrounded by bitter reminders every day; the muddy snow outside, the gray-blue landscapes, that moment before the telephone rings and the sigh I'm forced to emit when there's no one on the receiving end. These streaks of dull russet ink make me sick but it's really no match to the disgust I feel knowing that I'm going to try again.
All I want to do is make an offer; start fighting and you will know who you are fighting. There is always a fight here. This is a war universe. I'm not afraid of being alone. This is the inherent way of life. I have realized the emptiness of anger and conflict that exists in our lives. I know the illusory nature of victory and vengeance in our world. There is no holy grail. There is nothing gratifying enough about being human which urges me to surround myself with another. Likewise, there is nothing intriguing nor passionate left in the person I once craved.