I have decided that nothing is worth anything, but that existentialists are lazy wankers.

Wow. Taste the inherent contradiction.

*sigh*

Going through a little weird patch, I think. Everything's kinda going 'ping' on me. People, places, things... all seems a little unstable, a little surreal. Insubstantial, like it might float away and not be missed.

Ever had the feeling, mein freund? Ever had the feeling that everthing you hold close is more than possibly delusory? Eh, I think I'm turning into a cartestian sceptic, and maybe I'm vindicating my own lethargy... but there you go.

It does say something about the state of my mind that I'm self-justifying within a journal entry.

Now I know why Nietzsche hugged that goat. Living philosophy is scary, and lonely. But what is there to fear, but the certainty of uncertainty?