First, let me apologize. I'm almost never on deviantart anymore. My muse died, and I'm not sure she can be resurrected at this point.

Second: Please don't bother commenting on this journal. If you leave a comment, I most likely won't reply, and I'll make it invisible. Thanks.

On to the journal post.

I've been thinking a lot about Agent Smith in the second Matrix film. He gives a big long speech on each of us having a purpose. I've been thinking a long time on what my purpose is.

I don't seem to have one anymore.

I guess for a while it was to be a friend to others. I tried to take care of people, make sure they were happy. Took care of them when they were sick no matter the time of day or night. Listened when times were hard, not judging, not criticizing. If I had money, so do my friends. If they want food, I'll get them food, even if I have to cook it myself (and I'm a terrible cook).

Thinking about things, maybe I'm just a doormat. Despite my best attempts, I've lost my friends again. I'm just some kind of selfish asshole (so I've been told).

At this point, there's little else I can do to mend things. Nobody talks to me, and those who do, don't want to hear what I have to say. So I'll take my things, pull them back into my cave, and wait for nightfall.

-Spook

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"The heart deceives, because it is never anything but the expression of the mind's miscalculations ... I don't know what the heart is, not I: I only use the word to denote the mind's frailties." - Marquis de Sade

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