"A vacuous hole attempting to fill itself with all... but there is always something missing. Something that someone else has. An implosion. An entropy. An encapsulation of one's self. No filling. Never fulfilled. Always lacking. Always longing to fill. Always assuming that whatever was just found will be the solution to this emptiness, this desire... but it never is. Swallow, destroy, move on to the next. Swallow, destroy, move on to the next. Swallow, destroy, move on to the next. Nothing is right. I'm never complete. I'm never whole. Never satiated. Never solid. Others can be whole. Others can be solid, satiated, complete, happy. Since I cannot find these things within myself I must needs steal them. They cannot be attained but through thievery. I am quite convinced they were stolen from me to being with, so I'm really just stealing them back. I'm more deserving anyway for the way I have suffered. They are not deserving. If I can't have it when I deserve it, then they shouldn't have it at all!"
The above was what I wrote during an exercise where I was embodying the passion of envy, first through art, then shifting to body movement, then shifting to writing. The inter-modal shifting brings out many different aspects of the thing itself. I remember the last time I did the inter-modal shifting was with the element of fire, and the writing for that came out quite provocative, but also stilted, halting, popping - a line of flowing text, then a single word. The writing became much like fire itself. Embodying envy was quite different, it was becoming a human black hole consuming everything, but never really changing. The exploration was quite terrifying, and empty, and lonely, and painful.