puberty未满 I see myself in Stephen Fry
[I still have much 2 do yet I wanna write these out.]
“…tension and love between a stuffy Englishman unable to scream or express himself and the fantasising, romantic Sally Broyles, each equally doomed and equally in pain, each one half of me.“
I fear I’ll lose this one half of me, like a homo Englishman. Maybe emotionally I am still in my puberty.
Didn’t Woody Allen say that all lit was a footnote to Faust? Perhaps all adolescence is a dialogue between Faust and Christ. We tremble on the brink of selling that part of ourselves that is real, unique, angry, defiant and whole for the rewards of attainment, achievement, success and the golden prizes of integration and acceptance; but we also, in our great creating imagination, rehearse the sacrifice we will make: the pain and terror we will take from others’ shoulders; our submission and willingness to be rejected once despised for the sake of truth and love and, in the wilderness, our angry rebuttals of the hypocrisy, deception and compromise of a world which we see to be so false.
There’s nothing so self-righteous nor so right as an adolescent imagination.
We could mock the LIFE the PAINS and not hide the talk of experience, and intentionally hide our sarcastic natures in face of those sbs, but I fear,,,,,, that I ll soon be alone again.
