December 2, 2009


She said, "You know, you're kinda dark." " You aren't like anyone I've ever met." " You're mature." All of this because I expressed liking for a quote by a passionate photographer. All of this because I badly want a tattoo. It bothers me that she knows that part of the immense desire for the tattoo is the immense desire for the pain. I hate how transparent I am to her, but I also delight in it.

I am a passionate person. Everything I love incites a fire in me, a burning. I am easily swept up. I look for that quality in others.

Art will do it for me, photography and sculpture will too. Music, good writing, dance. Above all, seeing that fire burning in other people does it for me. I love the passion with which some people live. These fiery people are nearly always problematic. There is always something not quite right about them. All the fervency leaves them a little unbalanced. We all crash. This I love too.

Can anyone tell me that they do not love that ardor in others? There is nothing like seeing someone in their element. Nothing like seeing someone living for what they are doing. S was very much this way. She was a beauty, my ideal woman really. She loved to dance, she loved to play. We were very good friends. She moved to Arizona and we lost touch. This does not bother me as it would others. We are that type of people. We understand that friendships come and go. Ours would still be a friendship if she appeared unannounced on my doorstep, only to be gone in the morning. It is the passion. Those who have it are the only ones that understand it in others.

Maybe the passion is why I am so enamored with B. C does not understand it, because he is a rational being. He is a being seemingly without this passion. B has the fire. C hates it when I tell him I want to be near her because we are so alike. He does not see the likeness. B and I are very different people. Very different, but B burns, and B crashes.

He mocks me because I am so naive. He mocks me because I trust in people so easily. I feel the whole of the human race should support each other. A very naive view, apparently.

I understand flaws in others when they should not be understood. I am flawed. I know how wonderful it is for someone to tell me it is okay to be this imperfect person. It is such a cliché to say I want to help.

I will leave you with this quote, because it touches me. It always has.

"The only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars and in the middle you see the blue centerlight pop and everybody goes, 'Awww!'" --Kerouac

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