New.

So I've decided to give up sex. Which means a great deal considering how much I used to enjoy it, but in the face of all this movement there's a huge sense of displacement weighing heavily on my back and I found that sex neither contributed or took away from this. It had no effect on my being at all, so what on earth is the point of even partaking in it? It's lost it's meaning, even the fleeting sense of serenity has passed. It is unimportant, it's meaning is diminished. I need to fall back in love with it. Or simply fall more in love with myself. Or her?

I've been pack ratting all the literature on Meditation I can find, second hand books, mostly under the bridge adjacent computer village, are wells of knowledge, and now that all my books are in, I feel as though this is a time to regenerate my library with a more conscious mind. I look forward to this future, this 'adult' life. I look forward to the lessons, to the growth and to the hearts broken, the band aids ripped off.

I'm excited about the knowledge to be garnered. I feel less concern with the idea of going out, of socializing, it is not important, only work, only writing and reading, only real meaning and the path to the enlightenment matters to me now.

I feel the clarity. These past couple of days here had certainly discombobulated me, I was unsure what to feel you know? Happy? Sad? Resentful? I was still confused, would wake up from a nap thinking I was in the airport about to miss a flight. A harrowing ordeal indeed.

Yesterday I realized that I'm totally an intellect racist, I don't try and make friends anymore, I feel as though if we were meant to interact we would, there's no need for a conscious effort on my part, the light will shine on you if it is meant to, but if I perceive your actions and general state of being as idiotic you will be treated like the plague. With an understanding smile with an undertone of pity.

Shallow minds.

I met a girl yesterday who told me she didn't like reading books. I never responded to her.

Investing in your own slavery.

Adorning your physical with all these treasures, forgetting the true masterpiece is within.

Lost.

Its Me, Who Knows You So Well.