Posted by
Dr. Ransom on Wednesday, May 23, 2007 11:31:48 PM
I walked up and down the aisles of Blockbuster, looking for a movie that would not only entertain me for two hours, but would also fill a higher need. Somehow the phrase “art imitates life” had become too literal. Perhaps the watching of a film would replace and become true memories. My identity became less of where I went and what I did and more of what movies I liked and which characters I desired to relate to. Now I have recollections and déjà vu favorite movie scenes. This is either pathetic nature in its fullest, or I have joined the army of societal drones. The supremely depressing aspect is that I honestly believed that I could find a deeper meaning for life in some script acted out. I am happy with my life. I have been happy. But the void of what I’m sure my predecessors filled with religion left me searching for a higher purpose. I found that I was quick to put down the shallow lives of my acquaintances because of their piety, yet I was, in a way, jealous that I could not, in delusion, center my life on any social belief or ritual or group. I’m sure this leads to any neuroses I posses; biting my nails until they hurt. It would be great if this could be a warning for others of things to come for the idol. Instead it is more of a deafened, resounding anthem of the everyday person. Perhaps I am a consumer of commercialism, or perhaps it is the crutch and fount that I ebb my life from.