September 11th, 2002

Self-Portrait 3


Passion has been the driving force that has made me who and what I am. It has shaped every decision I have ever made, influenced every turn that I have ever taken. Everything in my life that I've ever actually cared about has been done because of it. Everything that I've not done that I eventually came to regret, I didn't do because I ignored it. It drives me, it directs me; it controls me. It is the single most important component of my makeup. Without my passion, I am nothing.

This is a fact that I have never understood until now.

And so, here I sit. With no direction, no purpose, no meaning. No joy, no happiness. No love, no togetherness, no feeling. Work and home, work and home, work and home. No fire, no spark, nothing.

But the passion is still there, directionless and adrift. I finally know-- I finally understand--why I feel so lost and restless and useless. I am who and what I am because of my passion-- and my passion has nowhere to go.

"Passion. It lies in all of us, sleeping, waiting; and tho' unwanted, unbidden, it will stir, open its jaws, and howl. It speaks to us, guides us. Passion rules us all. And we obey. What other choice do we have?"
Self-Portrait 3

(no subject)

I was over at (They sell books. Very good ones. Unless you're an illiterate cockspace, go buy some.), and I was somewhat frightened to realize that the opening paragraph to one of the reviews was a note-perfect summation of my life.

"Do you get those panic attacks born of the realization that, while you may be a good person (whatever that means), you are in no way extraordinary, your life is wholly without significance, you own nothing of value (despite eight thousand dollars in credit card debt), the only men you respect are dead or fictional and unless you stumble face-first into an ice-pick lobotomy you will die broke, alone and probably fat, too. Do you get those?"