Some who don't know me well may think me mysterious. I always appear to be hiding something. I am often alone, often playing music off somewhere, or somewhere dreaming or lost in words I'm trying to write. What do I think? What do I believe? No one can answer these questions because I reveal nothing. My lips are always sealed. Maybe my words are determined by my subjective views, these opinions I hold or don't hold, these beliefs I have or lack, but even then, what any person can gleam from my words is nothing that substantial. What is anything? Who are you? Or if Buddha is right, is there even a "you" to know? What is the point of anything?

I walk through mazes and labyrinthes with no Ariadnes' thread to find my way out. I lack the keys to the doors. My mind is a vast pool of blackness. No one knows me. No one knows me truly. Does anyone know anyone else? Perhaps these simple minds designated by this scene and this love of material things, and this sociologically determined flat, fake, boring, superficial personality, perhaps these kind of people can be known. But, others who have nothing, who think nothing, who believe nothing, who are not but depths of black and and blue and mystery and shadow that devours all light that comes off of anyone who attempts to get close--these people, perhaps, cannot be known. Can they even know themselves?

I feel like I am one of these people. I've drifted through creeds, I've meandered through philosophies, but in the end I am left with nothing. I am like oil so that I pass through everything but yet nothing sticks, nothing is added on. I am buried in layers of experience and thoughts, right, wrong, logical, illogical... What a mix, what a twisted worldview. I am so disarranged. I am nothing. I am not. Maybe Descartes was wrong? Perhaps cogito does not necessarily mean sum. We may be as nonexistent as dreams, specters who though they exist not, still drift through minds anyway, in the abyss of sleep...

What are human beings? Bundles of thoughts and emotions, always conflicting, always interacting, looking for some meaning, some worth. But it's all transitory. It's all going to be gone in the blink of eye. We will all be dead and gone and no one will know our names. No one will remember us as the years pass. We are nothing. We are gone already.

These are the traps that people like me dig for ourselves. We find how overwhelmingly empty society is, and people in general. We feel isolated, with a disdain for people, and eventually, for everything. Everything is equally meaningless. Meanings are prescribed like drugs. We give things meaning based on religious paradigms, societal values, etc. Everything is ultimately nothing. A stone is not a stone. A man is not a man. Everything = nothing.