its hard to say: enjoy yourselves guys, may you find God in the campers.

such perversion that although their joy ought to be my joy, i have instead sorrow.

welling within me this mysterious crippling bland tasteless pain. suppressed by the prevalent climate of joy
where joy keeps this sorrow company, making it hopelessly alone.
but sorrow is a property subjected to me, not i subjected to it.
i can discard it and i'll be saved.
and there the lonliness, alone, will cease to exist.