something sweet, sherlock

you might have guessed that i use this space to insert some semblance of meaning into the reactions i have to the things that go on in my life, and that this is the only place i do so and it feels neccessary.
you might know that the clear moments i have are not social, you never overhear strangers in a group telling each other stories - their stories are not spherical narratives, their stories, the ones that can be overheard, are spiky and orbital and revolve around instants of recognition that they patch into relevance. so you know that the clear refractions of reality that i write are not social.
i listen to others in real life, and only in the "afterward" time do i catch up on myself. i take at face value - but, this is true, i am in these cases, a mirror that is relatively deep, and sees myriad other ways. i am self deprecating. and it sometimes twists in my mind that my writing is damning, or twisted, or ungenerous.
but this is as true - i write when the crystallisation is acheived; words are descriptive and strategic, not true in themselves, but an aftertaste of what has been true. When we are happy, we never write, we do other things called life. The dictionary is composed of words for misery, desire, and possession - (inertia, projection and doubt, and this i want to be incisive about).
the events in the day or over a period that disturb my state that begins with waking up happy, these are my project.
Perhaps i am selfish. i think this is a good thing, and it is neither in sync with or out of proportion to everyone on the earth's properties of being.
i know this: it is a mistake to think everyone else thinks the way you do. it is a mistake to think you are the only person to think the way you do. everything is a mistake. it is all a series of mistakes.