July 16, 2011:
He feels it's intellectually demeaning to be happy.
Listens to avant garde jazz, not because he speaks the language, but because it seems like intellectual music.
Endless endless endless talk, thoughts wandering through paths and gardens of association, unfocussed, arriving nowhere.
Insults my girlfriends. Tells me what to think and do. Patronizes.
Enough. I'll make my own way.