In The Sepulchral City

'I found myself resenting the sight of people hurrying though the streets to filch a little money from each other, to devour their infamous cookery, to gulp their unwholesome beer, to dream their insignificant and silly dreams.  They trespassed upon my thoughts,  They were intruders whose knowledge of life was to me an irritating pretence, because I felt so sure they could not possibly know the things I knew.  Their bearing, which was simply the bearing of commonplace individuals going about their business in the assurance of perfect safety, was offensive to me like the outrageous flauntings of folly in the face of a danger it is unable to comprehend.  I had no particular desire to enlighten them, but I had some difficulty in restraining myself from laughing in their faces, so full of stupid importance.'

My behavior as of late seems inexcusable.  I am not well.  Often filled to the brim with such intense hate.  So intense.  It's not my strength that requires nursing but my imagination that searches for soothing.  One hundred and thirteen years later and I feel the way Conrad did.  Would he still get these sparks of 'intensity'? The sparks affecting me seem to last longer...longer.  I feel a loss of control over my faculties...a loss of control over my control.  Being comfortable with my situation, sickens me.  Being bored is a fate worse than death.