(no subject)
What do we hope to find in literature, that we glorify it so? What should it mean to us, that we take solace in others' mistakes, calling their flaws and errors their brilliance, and naming their pain as inspiring? What should we find; the courage of immortality and the bravery of a confession, or the cowardice of indirect honesty and weight of perpetual penitence?
I do not know my own thoughts anymore. This puzzles me, because I do not know what to find. Both are there, but which is the dominant? What is the answer? The response I will get is that there isn't one; but that's not enough. Discernment is something that can only be done in the individual, and simplicity provides the greatest complexity for thought. It creates a canvas with general definition, to be filled in with the colors of our own minds. Perhaps that is the point; to meditate our own shortcomings through the tales of others, the ultimate mirror of the soul. But can that be it, because it provides in meaning what the other idea lacks; that the written word is the chronicle of the lives of others. But that then begs the first response, which cannot be correct, or if it is does not answer that question itself.
In summation, which is mightier, the pen or the sword?
"I will eviscerate you in fiction. Every pimple, every character flaw. I was naked for a day; you will be naked for eternity."
This begs more thought.
I do not know my own thoughts anymore. This puzzles me, because I do not know what to find. Both are there, but which is the dominant? What is the answer? The response I will get is that there isn't one; but that's not enough. Discernment is something that can only be done in the individual, and simplicity provides the greatest complexity for thought. It creates a canvas with general definition, to be filled in with the colors of our own minds. Perhaps that is the point; to meditate our own shortcomings through the tales of others, the ultimate mirror of the soul. But can that be it, because it provides in meaning what the other idea lacks; that the written word is the chronicle of the lives of others. But that then begs the first response, which cannot be correct, or if it is does not answer that question itself.
In summation, which is mightier, the pen or the sword?
"I will eviscerate you in fiction. Every pimple, every character flaw. I was naked for a day; you will be naked for eternity."
This begs more thought.