Stand By Me

On the subject of love or the lack of it, I'd like to make some notes. I am not saying I should, I am saying I will. I am not going to mince it to pieces, like what I saw happening to a mutton chop today at the table, I was empathetical with the potato fingers, which must have been watching the scene in delight. I am simply saying, that love has to be something that is felt, not thought. And, how does one feel? As an acquaintance on Facebook puts it on her tagline, that the greatest miracles to have happened to us is how to feel (paraphrased) by e.e. Cummings. I don't want to be too delighted either, 'cos one's heart needs to be in the right place without forking it all the time (ref. Ghosts of My Girlfriends' Past). I would rather live out a sorry tale of love and losing (Marquez's Love in the time of Cholera) than simply denying the impulses their rightful escape.

What is the job of good writing? To make one feel something or to make one have a dispassionate understanding of the text? How does writing inspire? To, what end? As Aristotle would have it (ref, entrance prep M.A.), mimesis, or the art of imitation, one needs to have refined, higher understanding of the world. To simply feel, is not enough. Where does that leave me? On to something far more interesting, of Greek society. Where were the women? Why did the philosophers sport beards? Why was theater or drama so central to art?

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