this journal
In a recent facebook message exchange, a friend from project reminded me how much I miss writing. It's hard to explain. See, at my core, I have a deep and burning desire to be artistic.
My existence is mostly full of logical rigor. Today in one of my three math classes, we proved that anything that is true in the realm of mathematics can be proven to be true. Part of me wants that to be true of our world so deeply.
But part of me is so glad it isn't. Our world is a mystery, and in that mystery, is a gift. Art exists because of inexactness. Art is the half of the coin that is now so perfectly rotated as to be practically invisible from my viewpoint. Please do not misunderstand me. I also have a deep seated love for reason. I love a pursuit of truth whereby that truth is attainable. But there is no faith in mathematics. My desire for art is so acute that if you went through my Abstract Algebra notes, you would find three different haikus written in the margins. (Now, part of that is just because I love Fight Club. If you get the reference, cool, if not, never mind.)
I'm currently enrolled in an improv class, and that half of me is drinking it in so deeply I fear it might choke. Here at last, is art for art's sake. Here, it is glorified to do something for no discernible reason. Laughter is more expected than pages of notes.
I believe twofold. But I haven't felt that way in a few years now. It feels amazing.
My existence is mostly full of logical rigor. Today in one of my three math classes, we proved that anything that is true in the realm of mathematics can be proven to be true. Part of me wants that to be true of our world so deeply.
But part of me is so glad it isn't. Our world is a mystery, and in that mystery, is a gift. Art exists because of inexactness. Art is the half of the coin that is now so perfectly rotated as to be practically invisible from my viewpoint. Please do not misunderstand me. I also have a deep seated love for reason. I love a pursuit of truth whereby that truth is attainable. But there is no faith in mathematics. My desire for art is so acute that if you went through my Abstract Algebra notes, you would find three different haikus written in the margins. (Now, part of that is just because I love Fight Club. If you get the reference, cool, if not, never mind.)
I'm currently enrolled in an improv class, and that half of me is drinking it in so deeply I fear it might choke. Here at last, is art for art's sake. Here, it is glorified to do something for no discernible reason. Laughter is more expected than pages of notes.
I believe twofold. But I haven't felt that way in a few years now. It feels amazing.