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"In a mad world, only the mad are sane," Akira Kurosawa. This quote has made me think so much about the nature of our existence, both individual and collective, and about our perception of reality. Reading it over and over I found that I had truly been enthralled by this statement by a foreign director I have never heard of of his own accord. This quote is the only thing I know the man did, and to me, it was enough.



Reading it over and over, I found that the message seemed to expand with each glance. By being crazy, I am sane. By being crazy, I can find those who are also crazy and be sane with them. By being crazy, I am well adjusted to the world in which I live. By being crazy, I am enlightened. By being crazy I see the world as it is. By being crazy, I will not believe the lies that the world tells me. By being crazy, I will never be able to ignore the evils of the world.


If ignorance is bliss, I am in trouble.





I sat quietly on the bench reading a book, every few moments, glancing up to see the lemmings on their way to classes. Almost always in groups, they had no idea what happened, always so absorbed in their pointless little conversations, but then again, who am I to talk? I am currently reading a series about dragon possession, The Tears of Artamon, it was thoroughly enjoyable, but seemed to be a creative mashup of other popular things from vikings to veil to vampires, with lots of dragons. I also have the music cranked so I cannot hear the idiots and their babbling. Am I as bad as them? Am I worse because I am doing the exact same thing alone?

Well, the answer to both is yes, I am currently involved with an addiction to fantasy books, every day finding a new hero, history, and love. You see, I have so little of a life, I can get through a full book almost every day. My biggest decisions had become whether to go to Barnes and Noble and read something there, to read the book I had gotten from the library, or to study.

WHat was the point of this, to work hard at school so you could work hard at a job until you could no longer work hard, and lie waiting to die, there had to be more, but who knows. I quite often wish that I could escape to a world where everything has meaning, or such a lack of it that it made no sense and you just don't care. Every once in a while I would look around for my own white rabbit, tornado, or glowing doorway. It would never be there, but what can a guy do but look?

that's what I had always thought at least, that you heard the call of the hero, and were whisked off for an adventure, and while there would be as much bad as good, at least it would be an adventure. What is the point of this world? Why am I here? Why are any of us here? Is there even a meaning of life?

Do you actually want an answer Vincent?

Oh great, I ask myself rhetorical questions, and get a response, this is interesting.