Magnes, 42

Who am I?
I'm honest, loyal, insane, obsessive, a writer and an artist in every sense of the word. Van Gogh once cut his own ear off and mailed it to a woman he loved. To most people that seems extreme, but to anyone that has felt the true and absolute power of love in its most potent and animalistic forms. It's nothing more than a man in desperate need of another. Someone who, when he said, "I will do anything for you." meant it. Romeo and Juliet (although not real) were willing to die rather than accept a lifetime without one another. That's love, that's what I want.
Anything less than obsessive, carnal infatuation is a waste of mine, and ultimately, your, time. I wear my heart on my sleeve, and fall in love too quickly and too deeply for most. This isn't because of some simple addiction, it's because (and I'm about to start sounding like the guy from American Beauty, but damn it I'm real and that was just a movie) there is so much beauty in so many people. There's so much too love, and nobody deserves a half assed attempt at forever.
Like I mentioned before I'm a writer, that's not what I do eight hours a day, but It's who I am and what I plan to do the rest of my life. If, for only the simple reason that I enjoy it. While I'm doing it I feel alive, and the instances in which I feel that way are becoming more and more scattered.
Music is my other passion, It seems as if the more forlorn and depressed the better the songs get. I think I might stay down here for a while, just long enough to finish an album.
I realize the above paragraphs and thoughts paint me as something a bit strange and perhaps insane. The truth is I wonder whether or not I'm all there myself. I'd go to a shrink but I don't think he'd let me leave.
More than anything I think I just need a holiday away from myself, an adventure where I might just find what I'm missing.

So? You comin' or what?