hollow men

zombies. the walking dead. they may walk in daylight or darkness, but in either case, there is no soul underneath that animated corpse. and truth be told, they are not only found in fictional horror stories; they are real.

quite real. in fact, you walk by them every day. you talk to them, smile at them, eat with them. you know some of them quite intimately (if we assume that intimacy is possible with a soul-less body). furthermore, you may be one yourself.

for zombies, underneath all the wrappings and dramatizations, are simply humans who have lost their Souls. they may have lost them to work. they may have lost them in the pursuit of success. they may have lost them to broken dreams. whatever the reason, the truth is that "the mass of men lead lives of quiet desperation." there are no passions, hopes, or dreams. there is simply tomorrow. and the day after. and the day after.

but life does not have to be that way. you do not have to be one of the living dead. choose to chase your Soul down, beyond the sun, across the stars, to the glorious end. veni, vidi, vici.

a defense of art

picasso once said that "art is a lie that makes us realize truth." and really, this is what art and literature and plays are: deceits that probe the human condition. the exaggerations that could not exist in the real world are allowed to take form and create meaning in art. the hidden subtleties of life can be examined through the lens of a story. the incomprehensible darkness of humanity can be explored in cinema. by drawing our attention to the varied facets of the human condition, the arts give us a glimpse into the larger picture and the larger questions. What does it mean to be human? What are the implications of eternity?

and thus we can step onto a higher plane. we can not only look at our lives from a utilitarian viewpoint, but also from the perspective of beauty. through the art we create, we can catch a deep and raw glimpse of our feelings, ideals, and values. and, in doing so, we can become more than machines whose happiness dials have been set to "maximize." art is indeed a lie, but behind those lies are the voices of humanity.

daring to move

once again, i've fallen into the same old pattern. living for myself, caught in my own desires, unable to move beyond yesterday. is this life? is it this mindless cycle, where the world just moves and i follow? i'm running the rat race, knowing that something is wrong, yet doing nothing to get out.

but no more. yes, the world moves, and sometimes it's all we can do just to keep up. but there are times when i can move too. when my world stands on the edge of a knife, i can turn my fate. and so it is to this purpose that i write, and struggle, and press on. this doesn't mean that tomorrow is necessarily better. but tomorrow can always be new, and i look for it with new eyes.

De profundis clamo ad te domine.