*sees good art*
*gets excited*
*thinks I can art*
*tries to art*
*cant art*
*sobs*
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I am reminded of a film about a young man who comes upon a rat in the streets of Paris. This rat is special; he has been gifted with a talent for the culinary arts. He transcends his station as vermin. Yet he is cursed to live a half life, his greatest talent confined to the kitchen in which he will never be welcome. Yet he strives to live; he conducts himself through the young man, concealed within the chef’s toque. The man becomes marionette to the rat - yet the rat himself is puppet to the whims of his own ability, unable to find significance in the simplicity of his species’ station. In the end, it is only the food which escapes the cruel influence of obligation. It is constituted not by what it must do, but only by what it has always been. Tell me, Will, are you the rat? The young man, controlled? Or are you, perhaps… the food?
Oh, to be young, unleashed in a Barnes & Nobles with a fifty dollar gift card, buying whichever books had a dragon drawn on the cover.
