So I've been hangin' out down by the train's depot
No, I don't ride, I just sit and watch the people there
And they remind me of wind-up cars in motion
The way they spin and turn and jockey for positions
And I wanna scream out that it all is nonsense
Their life's one track and can't they see it's pointless?
But just then my knees give under me
My head feels weak and suddenly
It's clear to see, it's not them, but me
Who's lost my self-identity
As I hide behind these books I read
While scribbling my poetry
Like art could save a wretch like me
With some ideal ideology
That no one could hope to achieve
And I'm never real, it's just a sketch of me
And everything I've made is trite and cheap and a waste
Of paint, of tape, of time

The passage à l’acte commits us on a path when we must make a fateful choice. On the other hand, acting-out displays angst as if it’s an actor on a stage. It’s showing off and seeking attention. The child acts out to display frustration, the adult has a midlife crisis to show himself virile or less dull, and the liberal technocrat declares himself a member of the #Resistance. Acting-out might produce real effects in the world, but its purpose is to display, to justify, and to express itself

Against: What Does the White Evangelical Want, by Tad DeLay, pg 11