(no subject)
I'm sorta tired of putting quotidian details on here. I'm not sure why I started this LiveJournal thing... I think KMS forced me to as a means of keeping in touch. And it was (and still is) good for that. But, I don't know... Does anyone really care how my rehearsals went, or what we did in drama class, or how my Chemistry teacher came onto me? (He gave me a diamond, by the way, and said "Now they say diamonds are a girl's best friend..." in that... voice of his. Heh.)
I just haven't CARED about things for quite a while now. And, worse still, I find myself not WANTING to care about them, heh.
I've been reading Mrs. Dalloway recently, and it's set me thinking. Virginia Woolf was an amazing person, and there is something... romantic about her suicide. I mean, she was a strong swimmer and the natural instinct of a person drowning would be, presumably, to struggle. I mean, she did weigh herself down with a stone, but she still made a conscious effort not to... It wasn't really about death at all, it was about choice.
I see parallels with Democritus who we talked a little bit about in Latin class. Lucretius says he committed suicide because he could feel his mind going. From what I've read, he did it by starvation.
I bought the movie of the Hours, and... well, I loved it first of all, amazing experience. But I found this exchange between Leonard Woolf and his wife particularly provocative.
Leonard: Why does someone have to die?
Virginia: Leonard?
Leonard: In your book you said someone had to die. Why?
A pause.
Leonard: Is that a stupid question?
Virginia: No.
Leonard: I imagine my question is stupid.
Virginia: Not at all.
Leonard: Well?
Virginia: Someone has to die in order that the rest of us should value life more. It's contrast.
Leonard: And who will die, tell me?
Virginia: The poet will die. The visionary.
Heh, and before anyone starts worrying, I'm NOT suicidal. It's just... making me think.
I just haven't CARED about things for quite a while now. And, worse still, I find myself not WANTING to care about them, heh.
I've been reading Mrs. Dalloway recently, and it's set me thinking. Virginia Woolf was an amazing person, and there is something... romantic about her suicide. I mean, she was a strong swimmer and the natural instinct of a person drowning would be, presumably, to struggle. I mean, she did weigh herself down with a stone, but she still made a conscious effort not to... It wasn't really about death at all, it was about choice.
I see parallels with Democritus who we talked a little bit about in Latin class. Lucretius says he committed suicide because he could feel his mind going. From what I've read, he did it by starvation.
I bought the movie of the Hours, and... well, I loved it first of all, amazing experience. But I found this exchange between Leonard Woolf and his wife particularly provocative.
Leonard: Why does someone have to die?
Virginia: Leonard?
Leonard: In your book you said someone had to die. Why?
A pause.
Leonard: Is that a stupid question?
Virginia: No.
Leonard: I imagine my question is stupid.
Virginia: Not at all.
Leonard: Well?
Virginia: Someone has to die in order that the rest of us should value life more. It's contrast.
Leonard: And who will die, tell me?
Virginia: The poet will die. The visionary.
Heh, and before anyone starts worrying, I'm NOT suicidal. It's just... making me think.