The Divine Comedy

It is quite possible that writers are my obsession. The right words at the right time can be powerful enough to move mountains, or stop your breath. Regardless of wither it is their first draft or their twenty-sixth, those words mean something; they mean what you want them to mean, what the author wants them to mean, or both; that is, when a passage becomes more than ink and paper, more than a story, but a reality. Words are what we make of them; they have no meaning unless they are understood. Is that why there is so much confusion when people speak rather than when they just look at each other? Those wordless moments can say more about passion than Aphrodite can. Those same words have no meaning until you give them that power over your will to think. Think of them as sounds instead of words now. How bizarre we are, simply mocking each other to communicate. How outlandish. How I wish I could simply seclude myself in books and return only for the necessities of life. I have found more truth in fiction than I will ever find in a thousand lifetimes. These goddamn phonies, these awful liars are all around me and what can I do but blend in with them.