I’ve been thinking lately about truth, and I realized that truth is very uncertain, for how can we claim to know what we know when we don’t know it? I’m sorry if this entry isn’t as entertaining as the other entries I have posted but I feel like a little philosophy today, lest you all think that I’m just an oversexed rich kid rebelling from his catholic upbringing. The truth is, how do you all know that what I write is the truth? For all you know it’s all a lie, I could be a working class kid living in a trailer somewhere in Texas, never even been to Europe, how do I know who I am, in the end a good liar falls into a great trap, where the person successfully lies to himself. My friends they don’t really know me, for all they know I could be lying about my sex life, none of them actually saw me having sex, I could be lying about my sexuality, no one of them has ever seen me with another guy, all the have is my word of mouth. For all I know I could be straight! Maybe I am lying to myself about my sexuality, how would I ever know the truth? And even if I do know the truth, how do I know if that truth is true? The more we complicate ourselves the harder it is to remember who we really are.
I don’t like where my thoughts took me today, they’ve confused me, and they’ve also revealed to me that the stability I’ve created for myself is very fragile, and in blunt terms, it is an illusion. That’s really interesting; I feel this strange coldness I get inside every time my awareness is expanded. It’s like a detachment; I’m not sure how to classify it, its like steel in a way, I don’t feel very human inside, I find no emotions, and yet it doesn’t distress me, in a way it comforts me I find it soothing and almost magical, trance like in a way. I’ve babbled enough now, sorry this entry is somber, but I am left wide eyed in thought.











