Fragmentation is a nasty habit, I know. But you see, doctor Gregory, I’m a firm believer in the overall absurdity of big pictures and greater goods. Neither of the aforementioned minds the details, because that’s where the devil resides, they say. I say, fuck the near and the far future alike. Fuck that one thing that requires just that other one thing to function, and fuck happiness that demands misery to persist. I understand that we, regrettably, are adults. And as adults it has been forbidden us carefreedom, or the right to grieve at the lack thereof. I refuse to abide by the social contract that obliges me to always bear. Henceforth I, too, don’t find martyrdom attractive, nor do I wish at any point for myself or others to view me as the hero I know I’m not. This savior is nonexistent because this savior desires only to live carefully, selfishly, and self indulgently. I suppose I could claim the moral high ground and assume courage in admitting that a life well lived is not necessarily a life reflected on one, or several, profound purpose(s). But let us not brand my words with absolutism, for I know, the details, and the devil, are my friends, and the universe is wicked beyond reason, and purposes are times too many thrusted upon us and clinging. I realize also that we, creatures cursed with intelligence, are always and evermore threatened by one another, and by ourselves. And for that I have no solution and against that no protection. But you understand me, doctor Gregory, when I say, I’ll point the blame wherever the fuck I please, and if that is my chest, or should it be yours, then so be it.