Mary Jane, Kurtz and Darl.

HAPPY 4/20.

I'm not a stoner, but I've vicariously experienced the joy that seems to come from celebrating this momentous holiday, so if you are, I wish you well. May you knock off as many of your dwindling neurons as you've always dreamed. My advice: replenish your electrolytes before you sleep with a purple (okay, the color doesn't matter, but purple's the best) Gatorade. Your head will thank you in the morning.

There are two books that I think embody the most masterfully captured thoughts to date:
1. Heart of Darkness, Joseph Conrad
2. As I Lay Dying, William Faulkner

1 + 2 = epitome of literature, to the extent of my familarity with it.

I've never been more deeply affected by any other books I've read. I pull out my copies of these books frequently, becoming sucked into the eloquent text and scribbling comparatively inept margin notes with absolute fascination. I do this all the time, and I am never finished. Each time I read them, I find something else, something that fits in just perfectly, or doesn't, because both are significant. Neither of these books can be truly understood. I don't care who you are--there are so many ambiguities that one cannot have a definite idea about what the author truly means. I think that's the mark of brilliant literature--the writing is intricate and obscure enough to make a reader study it. I'm not talking your run-of-the-mill (another cliche I don't understand) English class interpret-these-symbols-and-write-a-response thought processes. The combinations of words in these books, the depth of understanding or maybe not--it drives introspection, and with that comes true, original ideas, thoughts that are absolutely yours, inspired by the living text printed on dead paper.