I love riding the El around Chicago.  I love to read everyone’s aura.  I think sometimes I’m coming close to understanding what I’m looking for . . . I just spent three hours playing “Metropolis” tonight, when I should have been studying for a “Theories of Personality” test . . . I was surfing the profiles of people I’ve never met and never will . . . there’s a vague outline of something, a pattern that is emerging to explain the terrible disappointment I’ve always felt in humanity . . . 

It’s a psychic understanding.  I almost had it a few seconds ago when I started this blog entry, but then it disappeared.  So much of my life is strange layers of energy that just shift and then the meaning of the previous moment vanishes into nothingness.  What held me together in this world?  Magic, I guess.  I’m a magical being, truly psychic now, able to act as a conduit for messages from the other side . . . and yet where is my home?  What the hell am I supposed to be focused on?  And the answer to that question comes easily but I can’t write it down because it’s yet another weird layer of energy . . . I wish I could have just been with people . . . just communicated with them instead of having to always skirt the issue . . . on the other hand I’m certainly glad I’m not “normal”, don’t have to worry about Obama vs. McCain or the Rwandan genocide or anything like that.  

Sigh, what a strange melancholy of anti-nostalgia . . . one might say I miss the future.  I can’t wait to leave this world and go into the light.