Star the Page.

Star the passage. That is the passage I found within the dark recesses of a library long forgotten about five years ago. I was randomly opening books, reading a few pages, and throwing them back upon the shelf as I eagerly moved on to the next book in hopes to find some remnant that would bring significance to my existence, a passage that would thrust true knowledge in my face. I hoped that the books would become the teacher I never had, the teacher that would proclaim the true workings of the world, the true workings of myself, though that never happened...

This passage did happen though, and it’s the closest I ever came to the concept of true knowledge that I so eagerly sought - so eagerly sought out but never found...

Catcher in the Rye did come quite close, it came close to illustrating the discontent and heartfelt longing I felt for something real, but it provided no real answers; instead, it merely illustrated the example that all lone men face - the example of Holden Caulfield and the endless inescapable fall that consumes us all.

In any case, this book was the book that illustrated my thoughts as I had written it myself within another life. I have since ordered a copy of it and hope to read through the entire book (if I have time, which we are all so short on) but in any case if you wish to read it, here is the info:

ISBN 0-394-47995-5

“What Do You Say After You Say Hello?” – Eric Berne, M.D.

...But That Was Someone Else's Dream

Strangely enough, I have spent my day going through my old diary entries in a vain attempt to figure out where I’ve been and where I’m going. My favorite post included the quote,

"I truly hate alcohol and I have vowed that I will never get drunk, but I will probably forget about it and get smashed someday. Nothing is more pathetic than a drunk." (My Diary)

So what does my future self say to the past self that wrote that quotation? I post a picture of myself smashed out of my mind as a response as well as a testament to the fact that existential man is a prisoner to his own vices, that when you remove external points of reference and leave man to wander around aimlessly he eventually picks up the lighter and begins to burn the house down.

Lately I have had a strange urge to drop out of everything and join an art school. My rational is two-fold, one being that an art school leads to an art degree which is completely useless and would only be attained for its own sake; that is to say that no one obtains an art degree for the future but rather it is a passion that implies living - it implies thinking for today, that life is a day-to-day venture that doesn't follow the systematic routine of storing up treasures that rust will eat tomorrow. My second rational would be the fact that I want to feel again. I want to look at a tree and be inspired, look at a bird and feel a sense of awe, look at a woman and perceive beauty, and perhaps through much practice I would be able to attain those senses of feeling once again.

I figure the art degree is about as far away as I can get from my present math degree, far away from the fact that math merely reduces everything to numbers without any sense of awe or inspiration, and far away from the fact that a math degree is merely obtained for the future. Though I must say, I do enjoy working out math problems (loser). Every math major I know loves to spout out their major and hear the words "Oh, Wow. You'll have no problem getting a job!" which in turn merely provides an excuse for tomorrow, a nest egg down the road - none of us are really living for today, but rather we are traveling upon the hopes and dreams of others.

How do I live then? Through the alcohol, through the alcohol and the vain idea that if I could get myself into an art school with like-minded individuals things could be different. That perhaps if I wish it, will it, and hope for it I will wake up in an art school a penniless pauper with a beautiful woman and it will merely be a Hollywood fantasy ending where the two inspired art majors drive off into the distance under the pretense of love and eternal longing for each other....

I can see us now with ratty tight-fitting tee shirts covering our perfectly toned bodies and Levis jeans, her with spattered paint stains from a freshly made portrait and I with the classic hole in the jeans signifying the trendiness that I so will so ardently oppose.

...but that was someone else's dream, I am just stealing it.