"Never trust the moral, trust the tale."
Never trust the moral, trust the tale. A bit vague without any context to go along with it. I read it in an essay of analysis and criticism of "The Oval Portrait" by Edgar Allan Poe. The critic said: "'Officially' the story is a pious protest at the sacrifice of a young life, but in practice the making of the sacrifice is presented with a kind of loving envy. As D.H. Lawrence didn't quite say, never trust the moral, trust the tale."
So everything has a certain underlying something to it, that critics have to demonstrate through plucking and pulling at the words and drawing parallels and making comparisons and doing all kinds of crazy shit to the poor, creepy little story that I don't feel like doing right now. In fact, I don't feel like doing much more at all with Poe [that hasn't already been done anyway]. I just wanted to always remember where I got that awesome turn of phrase.
~*~
A lot of things have been going through my mind in the past week that I couldn't possibly have planned for or expected... which I should or could have, maybe if I knew myself a little bit better. I've been particularly organized. It's a little frightening. I've been running. I've been eating well. I've been keeping my room clean. I've been well-behaved. And the most interesting of all: I've been trying to plan for my future. I have considered Biology and Economics as majors and minors. What the hell is wrong with me? Even when I say that, there's not much passion or punch or spice or any such exciting adjective behind those words. There's nothing behind those words... I can't understand where this willingness to work came from. I feel as if I stopped pretending to fight against myself or society or whatever it is that makes my world the way it is. I feel like I should learn to play the game and win. (And by win, I mean, in all seriousness, getting fucking rich and not having to work anymore). I don't know if this is a good or a bad thing at this point. It's just that I can't pretend to hate college when I'm here going to classes for hours a day, doing homework for many more hours than that in a day, and progressing through a system designed to get me a degree-- concerning which I have no preference with regards to area of specialization. Should I be an English major? A business major? An Econ major? I don't know what I want to do. My fantasy for my life is that I retire around 50 to write and travel (but not precisely in that order). I need to figure out how to get rich and happy and educated in the meantime.
Quite a problem.
I think, for a change, that everything is going to be alright eventually. I won't always be broke. My mother will be able to retire at a reasonable age. My loans will be paid off.
This incessent positve attitude won't go away; it's been several days now. Did someone send it because I'll be in dire need of optimism some time soon? I'm worried that this drive is unnatural.
Must.
Do.
Something.
With.
My.
Life.
Or be fucking bored and broke.
I have a lot more to say about things, but the things can wait. Not too much thinking at once; sleep is better.
So everything has a certain underlying something to it, that critics have to demonstrate through plucking and pulling at the words and drawing parallels and making comparisons and doing all kinds of crazy shit to the poor, creepy little story that I don't feel like doing right now. In fact, I don't feel like doing much more at all with Poe [that hasn't already been done anyway]. I just wanted to always remember where I got that awesome turn of phrase.
~*~
A lot of things have been going through my mind in the past week that I couldn't possibly have planned for or expected... which I should or could have, maybe if I knew myself a little bit better. I've been particularly organized. It's a little frightening. I've been running. I've been eating well. I've been keeping my room clean. I've been well-behaved. And the most interesting of all: I've been trying to plan for my future. I have considered Biology and Economics as majors and minors. What the hell is wrong with me? Even when I say that, there's not much passion or punch or spice or any such exciting adjective behind those words. There's nothing behind those words... I can't understand where this willingness to work came from. I feel as if I stopped pretending to fight against myself or society or whatever it is that makes my world the way it is. I feel like I should learn to play the game and win. (And by win, I mean, in all seriousness, getting fucking rich and not having to work anymore). I don't know if this is a good or a bad thing at this point. It's just that I can't pretend to hate college when I'm here going to classes for hours a day, doing homework for many more hours than that in a day, and progressing through a system designed to get me a degree-- concerning which I have no preference with regards to area of specialization. Should I be an English major? A business major? An Econ major? I don't know what I want to do. My fantasy for my life is that I retire around 50 to write and travel (but not precisely in that order). I need to figure out how to get rich and happy and educated in the meantime.
Quite a problem.
I think, for a change, that everything is going to be alright eventually. I won't always be broke. My mother will be able to retire at a reasonable age. My loans will be paid off.
This incessent positve attitude won't go away; it's been several days now. Did someone send it because I'll be in dire need of optimism some time soon? I'm worried that this drive is unnatural.
Must.
Do.
Something.
With.
My.
Life.
Or be fucking bored and broke.
I have a lot more to say about things, but the things can wait. Not too much thinking at once; sleep is better.