the body is merely a sack of flesh, kept working by electrical impulses and chemical reactions. where in that slowly putrefying lump of filth do we keep what makes us human? where is our life force, our soul, housed?

why is it that of the thousands of people who somehow touch our lives each day, so few make a real impression, let alone stay and become some real part of the path we're on? what decides who stays and who goes? what forces bring us together and drive us apart?

what if coincidence is not really that at all, but fate?

or possibly just some form of gravitational pull of like souls to like souls.

some people don't seem real. people that have no spark. i know i am real...i think therefore i am and all that. perhaps it is not a spark at all, but a combination of characteristics that makes them interesting, multifaceted people worth my time.

i do not love all people.

in fact, as a carry over from my goth phase, (besides the habit of sleeping during the day) i've developed a general theory.

i hate humanity.

i like individual people. i like to take things on an individual basis. humanity in general, however...