27.July.2001

random obsession

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no less beautiful

This very line came from an e-mail I received at approximately 1:50am Central Standard Time, and it made me smile. I felt the need to proclaim to the (diaryland) universe that at approximately 1:50am Central Standard Time, I smiled at this e-mail.

J., we're constantly struggling to find out who we are. I think the second we discover who we are is the second life has become pointless. Does that make sense? How about you be my partner in crime instead.

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After about two hours of reading past diary entries from 1996 until 1998 and boring myself senseless with my dramatic bilge, the following has been stuck in the gears of my brain:

Do we ever really know who the understood *you* is when we obsess?
"I can't live without you."
"How can I exist without you?"
"You are the [insert metaphor involving long, drawn-out desperate words that arise from the same long, drawn-out desperate vernacular here]."
And any quote from Slit.

Obsession is narrow-minded, I've discovered, because I know my head is too far up my anal passage to actually really get to know my obsession, whatever, whomever it may be. I may think I deeply connect to something, but that's only because I'm searching to connect, and those morose vibes clash with the actual vibes of the obsession itself.

On a seriously unrelated note, my diary likes this diary.

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time & machine