(A Hyperbolic Note-to-Self)
I am dissatisfied, disappointed, and disenchanted.
Everything, everywhere, falls short of my personal ideals.
Even the precious influences that, together, have formed my standards of perfection, are ultimately insufficient.
Some environments, experiences, and objects seem promising, but these all inevitably suffer from some deficiency, either blatant or subtle, that renders the desired resonance incomplete.
This inextricable discontentment is my greatest inspiration.
When I am inspired, whether by the presence, the absence, or the negation of delight, my discontentment is all the more profound; it is then that I must subjugate all within my power to the law of my will.
Every source of dissatisfaction, disappointment, or disenchantment is another challenge to my imagination, another demand from the depths of my ego that I create the joy that I seek.
My creations will eventually disappoint me as well, prompting new visions to suit the volatile cravings that herald my evolution.