Drat You Caldwell and Thomason May 2, 2008

Been testing a theory I happened upon a while ago. The theory is that with applied analysis, contemplation and devoted thinking, you can actually figure life out and see the world, as it should be. From thereon, it’s just a matter of trying to make it that which it ought to be. As is obvious to those familiar to such course of action, I have come to learn rather despairingly that the world is determined to think as contrarily as Mistress Mary.

 

 

Battling with the idea of God and the existence of the two dualistic afterworlds heaven and hell, these I conclude, are not the sort of thing that would normally concern a teenager of my position. But then again, I came to the terms of the matter of the fact long ago that I am anything but ordinary.

 

And the question of purpose and meaning. Of sensibility and significance. Defining carefully what it is that we were created for, from whence innumerable other sub-questions thus arise; who created us, why is he/she/it so mysterious, is there more to life than what we are raised to believe, who decides what is right and wrong and by what right do they decide?

 

And I need not elaborate on the endlessness of these questions. Far beyond the imagination of one solitary man.

 

And while the journey to discovery is a beautiful and exciting experience exclusive in rush to no other experience, it Is rather like a conscienceless mistress, leading you on until in spending your one most valuable resource to her (that is your time and energy) she forgets that you ever were and all her promise she unveils to revel the empty space where ought to lay the reward for your effort.

 

 

Ian Caldwell, Dustin Thomason. Two men well worth blaming for all this line of thought. Thrusting me into the depths of what started out as a magnificent book, one worth sewing onto one’s body to read at leisure whenever the urge should arise; to always be in close proximity with such a work of art. From that to the book you want to throw far away, to remain knowing of its existance but forever in denial. That kind. So conclusively maybe Savonarola was right. That books are the very weapon of the devil, should such a being exist.

 

…………………………………………… 

 

With the exact same venom driven force as would all book-worshipers all over the world use, I have slapped myself.  Such utter and complete nonsense!