Seven

In all the years I’ve been writing this, no one else has read a word of it. But I write for myself, not others.

There is no one with whom I can share my thoughts, because most people have no thoughts to share.

Most of the people who are now considered wise are barely literate. They say things their admirers assume must be profound because they can’t understand them. But they're merely incoherent.

These pundits and their admirers are too ignorant to know the ideas they present as new and original were said before, and said better. But now that I’m old, I too forget who said what in the past. I even forget what I said in the past.

I return here from time to time, when I feel more than usually lonely, to read what I said in the past; and usually I find it more interesting than anything I say now; certainly more interesting than anything others say to me. But when I read what I said in the past, I also become depressed – more depressed than usual – at how stupid I’ve become. I’m nearly as stupid now as most people. I hope I have the courage to kill myself soon