I am in love again, this time with text. I have seen these patterns before, I have felt these feeling before; where I practice with such passion towards meaningless that it resembles madness to an observer.
My first love was computers and programming. I was quite bad at it, but my persisted years of practice made me quiet competent. I feel confident in my ability to figure out any problem now, and also write software for a living now. For that I am quite grateful. I still carry the attention to detail, care for the craft but the mad passion isn’t present at the moment. Something tells me it will be back.
I have rediscovered this love in books (physical copies), stationery and consuming book content. Engaging in text, writing random throwaway pages of text, taking notes in books, copying phrases from books and thinking about them. All of it makes me very happy. I am glad I still have love, just for something different this time.
I wanted to write this after I read being alone, and while I was reading this passage:
One’s thought patterns become different, when forced into the confines of rigid and unfamiliar tongue. Certain common ideas become inexpressible; other, previously undreamt-of ones spring to life, finding miraculour new articulation.
~ The Secret History