To be defined in a box of description is the antithesis and synthesis of my process. Therefore, I am only a hologram of the definition, which is linguistically tautological.

To me, emotion is quintessential though it has been largely predefined through the social veins of the so-called "facts". In reality, what I am as a fact doesn't matter, only the process of your emotional reaction when you confront me.

I am now content and simple because I believe you, my friend, are the best thing ever happened to my life. Send me your smile and I will live happily ever after.
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emotion, such as love, may be a construction, although I don't believe this construction is necessarily bad (or good). , if it makes you happier or sad, then it makes you happier or sad. if it makes you falling in love, it makes you falling in love. everything is natural in the same sense of how "natural" is natural. to abstract love from factual signification is a distillation based on one specific desire, and hence incomplete. thus at times, i love loving.
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my or anyone's ideas or books to you really simply remain to be descriptive or informative. whether it's correct/ clairvoyant/ or gives you information that you didn't know really stays at a simple factual process. the power of idea may not lie not with its ability to shine the correct path, but its potential of agitating the emotion in you. henceforth, me or anyone writing a book you read necessarily deprives you of your potential emotional experience of discovering/suffering not discovering this very idea. the publishing alters your conflict into another dimension, thrilling/feeling inept/contempt for example. my ideas are thus better to remain obscure.
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the terms we/our/us in a way are somewhat tautological/paradoxical to me. if my perception of the existence of "we" necessarily relies on "our" interactions (education, activities for example), how can i be sure that "our" is not just another dimension that self-defines "we". i am not quite certain of what is "we" also because "my" interpretation of "we" remains to be "mine", not "ours". is we just you and me? then then how do i know a) you and me constitute we b) who are you? for this reason, how do i ever know ”we“ even if we means you and me but i don't know what are "you“? are you a part of me? are you with me?
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the world is always more complicated, though to write this line is relatively easy. some tentative thoughts:

my process of struggling to self-differentiate/ yearning for more depth is just another dimension of surviving my identity by relentless carving. in reality, why depth? why tension? why being adrift? is this just another manifestion of expressing what is desired in lieu of good and bad? emotional/identity security/stablity as the impetus?

i cannot analyze the concept of i without modificating it in the process. hence i am always at loss.

desperation is hardly desperate in the true sense cuz when one is in what commonly described as the "desperation", that also implies there are a lot of things that may make life better without the chance of occuring (or in other words, hopes that cannot be actualized). yet if one is just barely content with his or her life and can sense no emotional force for desiring or hoping anything different, that may be desperation in a semi-profound sense (whereas one gives up the will to hope). i am close to this point at times. and hence i do cry out when i am tranquil like this.

antidote du jour: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yXNj-4BXLng