Revision

I am trying to get started on a book, but I don't want to write it under my own name so I will you the proxy Joshua Tree. I sat down and spontaneously wrote. I realize that there are multiple fragments among this piece, but they are for the "effect" of the writing. I guess I am just looking for an opinion. Is this amateur hour, or is there potential?:

Recollection:

I have spent the day doing absolutely nothing of importance, and have paid no regard to time. I did not greet the day, nor did I salute it on its departure, for it is during these times were I have spent the day doing absolutely nothing when I feel the urge to push myself to do something truly great, but the sad truth is that I don't know what will satisfy me. I don't know if it is a person, a place, a thing, but this emptiness inside doesn't feel right. I don't know what actions of valiance and bravery can fill the void. Will it take a Nobel Prize, or discovery and execution of a highly wanted terrorist to silence the calling of my heart and soul? What action must I partake in to clear the fog that has been so inconveniently disrupting the joy in the simplicity of living? No longer do I sense the same discipline and resilience that has driven me to bring myself to the places where I have reached. I have lived my whole life with a lion and a fierce bear behind me. The lion for protection and support and the bear to force me into the directions that will keep my life in a safe and stable state, but it is beyond that. I feel the need to work for a greater good. To make sure that nobody feels this way that I do, because the darkest path to the bottom is feeling this way; living without purpose. I find that I constantly observe myself as well as those around me. I have become a cold machine in a day and age where everything has become robotic. The people no longer resemble people, but have built such standards that may only be met by the machines that they are being replaced with, for they, day by day, become more and more like pieces of fine tuned hardware programmed to do what their genes have set them to do. Today's society is one that favors those who have no values but to excel to the next level of where ever the highest point is that they can reach. Theses perfectionists have no other goal in life but to reach perfection by any means. There is no sympathy for those who have fallen behind. There is only disgust followed by judgment, and vice versa. I have become a machine. : A machine of judgment and all other purposes that the modern day Homo erectus robotic intelligence unit must serve. I resent what I have become and fear that there is no return. I fear for myself and those around me. I fear the emotional pain that may be undergone by thoughts and ideas that were meant to be enclosed in the deep membranous tissues of my genetically manufactured cerebrum. Thoughts of loving and loathing, floating and sinking, life and death. Concepts too complicated to be comprehended and put into words. A product of nothing but emotional expression. Nothing but a feeling that may be described only by a color, but no words. It is felt not spoken, hence the term feeling. A sensation that is not capable of description. It all originates with recollection of the days that have been wasted. A day wasted, a judgment passed, love made, machines loathed, float to heaven, heart sunk, life lost, life found, and sensations felt, no longer analyzed.