someday this will wash up on the shores of cyberspace like a message in a bottle and wonder who i was. whoever they imagine me to be is who i am, for how else can i justify my existance if not through the gaze of another? the eyes are not a window to the soul, but a mirror through which we can see ourselves for what we truly are, or at least what others percieve our true selves to be. Because at the End Of The Day, All I Am Is What You Say I Am.
something something mortifying ordeal of being known something something
i was washing the dishes and had this weird thought about what being driven means. so often i have been driven by self hatred, motivated by fear that others wont love me if i dont do great things. and thats not true. my mere existence is enough. but then what drives me? i want to be great as an expression of my love for the world, not as a way to validate my own worthiness of it. artistry, mastary, nuance, they are an expression of something deeper and greater that prove how beautiful things can be. i want to do great things because i love the world that gives me the opportunity to do them, i love the people that help me do them, i love you. and now the next part, being known. i want to be a lighthouse keeper. solitude but at peace with the whim of the universe. never a master but always capable of find peace in the chaos of existence. the wind, the sea, they are companions. i am never lonely, thinking is a good thing. few know me, and those who do apreciate ...
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