The struggle with the web site
alludes to the struggle within.
They are symptoms reflected
in different spheres, i.e., digital
and analogue.

The struggle is not ontological;
I feel my heart, I feel my suffering
and anguish, ergo sum.

The answer, therefore, lies in that.
I simply get caught up in the feeling.
I vacillate from moments of extreme
levity, of sheer beauty and ecstasy to
ones of subjugation, despair and utter
putrefaction of my self.

I do not know! I sincerely do not know!

My affinity for existentialism is not the root,
the causa prima of my crisis. Contrary to what
some may believe, existentialism has not added
to my depression; no, rather, it has liberated me.
It has brought to me moments of lucidity, of clarity
that cause me to write in my journal with intensity,
with a passion that is all too me and few things are
capable to awaken; it is not that they are incapable,
but rather, I am am incapable of understanding them
and thus allowing myself to be inspired by them.

I am too optimistic to give up on man! I do not care if God
exists or not, I don’t give a centime.

The issue concerns feelings; I have no compunction in
declaring that I am too effeminate for I succumb fully to
feelings; it is a proclivity that I am unable to extirpate from
myself as much as I am unable to cease my intellect from
understanding things vis-à-vis to my experiences. I am a
child of habit.

Through my veins runs Latin blood, tempered by: a calid
climate; a propensity for dilly dallying and unpuncuality; the
idea that everything can wait for to-morrow for there is more
time than life; that work is more or less overrated; a tribal
mentality (were not the Greeks and the Romans deme and tribus?)
unlike the teutonic predilection for individualism (one need only
look at their anti-papist, watered-down Christianity). We are a
passionate people! We love!

So it is my nature to feel, to be passionate but I have grown up in
an Anglo-Saxon society where such things are almost impossible;
the British are not known for their passion. Ah cultural barrier! No-one
seems to understand that when I am depressed, that membrillo has the
ability to heal my pain, to offer me that comfort that nothing else, save my
mother can bestow.

Alas I must establish that reason and passion are commensurate.