sat dj sfa does this auto correct?
no, hm, perhaps i should just let it not.
Its like the dialog of my brain unsencered with the sweet irony of my re-writing that word over and over again.

so what is it that i wish to think about, then correct, re-write and make proper.

when do we all start feeling human? its a problem that ive come across on multiple ocasions and something I have never been able to answer. if "L" says that im terrible at expressing my emotions, how can she really say, just because my means of expression are different from her own. but its not just hers, its everyones. it some times feels like im stuck between two worlds, mearly observing them like a passenger on a subway watching each station pass by, the people waiting along the edge as nothing more then blurred faces with no name. And I hate that. I hate those water color fucks with the eyes that never last, and the stories that are never told. I ease drop on peoples conversations in the general public in an attempt to draw lines around their shifting forgetable fourms. So who is to say that they are more emotionaly inclined then I. their emotions might feel just as fake to them as my emotions feel to me, perhaps we are all lieing to eachother because we feel the need to keep up this idea that emotions exsist. trying to paint our own lines around our water color shit.

tonight is a night that makes me want to keep thinking even though its exhausting. I feel the need to preserve this moment of clarity because it is far to easy to fall into a cycle of being human. Fuck that card board cut out representation of a 1960's perfect family. Im not that! I want to travel, I want to get in fights with complete strangers and buy them a drink after, have mutaly grown as lost souls from the experiance. I am not a writer, but I will be damned if im a robot.

I cant beleive how different of a person I am each day. truely, my theory that we are eternaly in a state of dieing and living seems more and more realistic every day. who am I to say that the me that is sitting here now, is the same me that was sitting here yesterday? or will be the same me tomorrow. what if this me is going to die tonight, or is dieing right now, and tomorrow a new me, in a new world will mearly shrug to the coming of another boring day, oblivious to the death of himself no more then 8 hours prier. what if a creative mind is some one who some how managed to survive past their daily purge of their past self. some one who held on to those experiances, every single one of them, and was able to grow in doing so.

what if we really are just dials on a radio station, and right now some one else is writing out this exact sentence, and making these exact mistakes, and is just as woried as I am about posting this anywhere, If I were to post it and he\she didnt, they would see it and be shocked, as would i if the opposite happened, but, since I am writing this out, they would be thinking the same thing I am. which means that if I wait to see if someone else posts this online, then, so will my double, thus it will never get posted. but if I do post it, so should they, thus making the idea possible to be viewed.