Quentin Compson

There is so much sadness in the world. Why, why? It’s so easy to turn a blind eye to it, when you’re young and don’t have to face it. In fact that’s what being optimistic is all about. Ignoring the bad and the ugly. Sometimes I feel like its all worthless. You’re so excited to grow up and when you do, then what? You have no choice left but to face the ugliness. The world doesn’t let you ignore it anymore; it’s pushed up right to your face, so that you’re overwhelmed by the stench. What can you do? Despair over the fact that you’re no longer the little one that everyone tries to hide the ugly truth from? Or accept the fact that this is life, you’ll never ever escape the bad people, the meanness, the judgments.

I always thought that suicide was a terrible, terrible thing and could not believe anyone would take their own lives. But I know now why Quentin Compson killed himself. For that innocence. Innocence. That word holds so much, it represents all the things this world lacks, the make believe world of innocence parents create for their children, but only for a while, and sooner or later the pure white gets soiled. Quentin, you represent something absolutely stunning, so unbelievably beautiful that there are no words to express it and I understand why you took your life. The world can never hold something so moving as innocence and I know why you killed yourself and took that innocence with you.

And I find it kind of funny, I find it kind of sad, the dreams in which I'm dying are the best I've ever had.

@Title: not at all, I'm actually a generally very happy person, not depressed at all, unless of course spasmic feelings of inadequacy count as depression? If not then we're good.

I just think the song from which the line comes is amazing, that's all.

Its one of those songs that fills your mind with images. You know, like things you usually don't think about because you don't have time, life gives you no free time.

Like today, when I heard it, I thought of fireflies. Flickering in the summer time, lawns, laughter, running, stars, warm nights. And with those thoughts, inevitably, came the thought of India, and nostalgia hit.

(If I had to characterize my life with one feeling, I would choose this one).

It comes with a flash, taking over all my senses, forcing me to succumb to its power, forbidding me from thinking of anything other than the place I come from. It takes over me completely, and I wish it would stop, leave me alone, I don't want to live in the past, but it won't go away until I've cried my eyes out, mourning for the past, for a future I know I won't have. Then it leaves, satisfied, leaving me in its wake, so, so sad, hopeless, torn.

Silly Dreams

When I read Catcher in the Rye, I was 14, and I hated it. I thought it was stupid, overrated, and a waste of my time. Now, when I look back upon that book as a 17 year old, I don't think anything could sum up this world, this crazy, dynamic, throbbing, pulsing world of human beings better than the word phony.

Even as I listen to beautiful music, I'm aware of the fleeting, unreal nature of it all. Cynical much? I think so. Age and experience does that to you. It turns the dreamer inside you into something ugly, realistic, always doubting, questioning, something you don't recognize, someone you thought you'd never become, and you still foolishly cling on to those childish wishes, thoughts of the perfect someone, a dream house by a rocky beach, even though you know it won't ever happen.

That's what makes me phony. I believe all my wishes are going to come true and I also know that they're not. Isn't this the stuff that crazy people are made of? Living in two different worlds at the same time? Crazy and phony, that's what we all are.

I still have childish dreams. I see myself in my dream college. I see myself being liked by everyone. I see myself a famous actress. I see myself spending the night with the love of my life walking around an empty town that belongs to only us. Silly dreams.