I like text. I like to have long and incoherent verbal debates with myself in text form. To contrast my views against my own sense of what at least seems objective. I don’t write to others I know or don’t know. I write mainly for the sake of writing.

I probably mentioned this before, but it deserves a reiteration: I have probably consciously written more than I’ve consciously read. General reading of necessity or by accident certainly exceeds the amount I’ve written, byte for byte.

Images, photos and figures is not my thing. I own a camera, but I use it to document things, not to capture the moment or feeling of the moment. Needless to say, my camera sees little use.

I have a large text file on my computer which I add to almost daily with various thoughts and arguments. These sometimes make their way onto Tumblr, most often they do not.

But I should try to focus more on stuff that matter.

Why aren’t more women wearing things like this? They are after all allowed by the fact of being women. I think it is a wonderful dress, but I could never wear it because I’m a man.

Jealousy. Or something.

I am a hippie, not by choice or necessity, but by natural coincidence. I resent hippie values, but I can’t get past the fact that I am one of them.

Although I have never used drugs of any kind, abhor leftist values of collectivism and conformity, regard the environment as something to be protected not by law and regulation but instead based in common sense (hippies call it peace and love). My Asperger’s syndrome seems to make me feel like I high all the time, unwillingly. I don’t hallucinate (I think) but I sometimes feel exhilarated for reasons unknown to me.

I’ve watched the participants in the Occupy-movement and found they are goofy and lacking in their arguments and discussion. They are hippies, they protest of protests sake. I don’t protest — because I’m afraid of the reactions of people. I sit at home sulking in my own sadness. My hippie is starving.

I don’t think the government should tell you what you are allowed to consume. If you do bad things to yourself or others because of what you’ve been consuming you should take full responsibility for your actions. I am not against drugs but I don’t see myself using them.

I have problems focusing and probably have some comorbid condition like a learning disability. I don’t like it.

Peace and love? Those don’t even have anything in common. But they are alluring ideas where the freedom of the individual seems to be in focus.

I own clothes hippies could own. Custom designed for me, at my request.

I am deep and spiritual — yet with my feet firmly planted on the ground. I care for others in a way which makes me not care for myself. I am certainly not selfish (even though this little outburst might seem egocentric).

I eat meat. I drive a car (having owned four). I don’t love animals. I am not superstitious or religious. These are defensive barriers I’ve set up to deny my hippie access to my life.

Hippies embrace free love. I embrace free love — to a point. I don’t care what others think, hippies don’t either. I like freedom, but who doesn’t?

Hippies are into nudity — so am I (at present in fact). I like nudity and would like to live a clothes-free life, I am not afraid of my body; in fact:

Enjoy your body. Use it every way you can. Don’t be afraid of it or what other people think of it. It’s the greatest instrument you’ll ever own.

~ Baz Luhrmann

are words I live by.

I can’t even seem to master the idea of having a regular schedule for taking showers. I blame the hippie inside.

Hippies seem to be happy people. Able to function socially in a natural and uncomplicated way. They live the simple life, full of freedom. Social IQ cubed.

Being the curious and of course over-tolerant hippie I am I looked up definitions of what hippies are considered to be. It didn’t do what I wanted it to do — give me info I could use to deny my inner hippie (and other hippies) a valid reason to exist. Instead it increased their validity by several orders of magnitude.

I feel fear when I think of hippies, but not other hippies, but hippies in general. I feel the fear of me being one of them being found out by my relatives, my peers (who do not exist) and my co-workers. They might think I am idiot and my pride tells me I should not let that happen.

I am at a crossroads here. Do I choose to continue down the hippie trail or do I take the other way and reject my inner hippie?

That would be depression for me.

Recently I played around with SVG and generated this grid just to see if I could do it.

I find that I cannot look away when I see this picture (the original fills the entire window of the web browser) and I have yet to close the tab.

The subtle silver lines and the effect dotted effect makes my mind relax. Vibrations are also soothing — for my Aspie mind. Mathematical perfection and personal gratification achieved with vector graphics — your mileage may vary.

Yes, I was bored. Yes, I need to buy more decks of cards. No, I don’t live in an area where earthquakes are common.

I have just decided to ditch Google Calendar for Emacs Org. Maybe I did something stupid.

Is it possible for a mental health professional (a psychologist or a psychiatrist) to see Asperger’s syndrome when in reality the problem actually is social phobia?

Of course anything is possible in the mind of the deliberate liberal, but generally speaking it probably still is possible.

Perhaps my self-diagnosis of social phobia in 2003 was right after all.

I follow nobody. Not in real life and not in the fake Internet-way. Following my followers will lead me to walk in circles. Lost people walk in circles. Leaders lead.