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The best thing that can happen to me now is death. That is the most difficult thing too. I guess I am doomed to live with this guilt and depression for ever. Forever is such a long time. I don't know that I can survive forever!!

What possible good can life hold in store for me now. What possible good can I ever hope for. I have never been good myself. Crime and Punishment. Who said that, huh?

I can feel the tendrils of depression creep into my soul. And constrict my being. I cannot bear this much longer.

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A Weird Loner !

Pondering on the reason for one's existence is hardly the sort of thing one ought to be doing these days. But, there being nothing really worthwhile about life, about being alive, or even about feeling alive, this is just the kind of futile occupation that appeals to loner's of my sort. So here I am, by my favourite watering hole, listening to the silence of eons. Maybe I am weird, like some nice people have kindly pointed out. What they have not been able to point out though, is the reason for my weirdness or anybody elses weirdness. I guess, sitting by all by oneself, by the side of a sullen lake is weird. Fine. So I am a weird loner. Thank you very much. That is what loners are ! Anyway, I haven't posted anything at all for a long time. Even my best friends seem to have given up on me. It is tough being a loner. It is tougher being a weird loner.
Is theology a contardiction in terms ? Is it possible for a mere mortal to study God. I wonder, like so many before me, how any one can be arrogant enough to think that God, if it exists, can be comprehended by man. I woud have thought that by definition God is incomprehensible. So any study in that direction is futile and bound to fail.
He was back in that old place, where memories were on riot. Nostalgia doesn't half describe what he felt. It was not the moon. Not the flowers. The shock of deja vu was in the ordinary things, in the vegetables and the sodden grass. The drizzle just added to the score. He realized what many before him had already known. That love is not about joy, or happiness. It is about anguish, about a glimpse of the unreachable. A vision of what the human brain can achieve, and what no neural circuit has yet managed to duplicate. Sitting on the moist rocks of the cliff, he realized he woud gladly go through the same pain, and grief. For love is a gift of god, even for athiests. A message form a power greater than humanity. And he said to himself. I miss you. I miss you like the air I breathe. The ripple of the waves of the lake, like soft laughter, fills me with a silent loneliness nothing can ever wash away. Where are you now? What are you doing?