My head hurts. I blame poetry. Three word sentences. Describe philosophic poems. What is purpose? What is beauty? The point is?
Ok, I will stop. Pardon me if I feel the least bit frustrated after analyzing "Ode to a Nightingale" (Keats) and "Hymn to Intellectual Beauty" (Shelley). Either these guys were geniuses or they were smoking something that probably wasn't so illegal back in their day. Probably the former. Anyway. Both of these poems posed serious questions that no one should have to think about at 10 pm. Which poses another question altogether: why did I wait until 10 pm to read them? Ugh. Too much to think about.
Keats addresses the meaning of life, death -and quite possibly taxes- as he ponders his own purpose and why anything really matters at all. After reading it, I could not help but reflect on my own purpose (currently to get an important piece of paper called a degree) which made me want to find my secret stash of hemlock and put myself out of misery (and doing the taxes).
Shelley brings up beauty. And, as I somehow understand? it, beauty is subjective. As is poetry. As is life. As is humor. I find lots of things beautiful that could be considered ugly. I also find (usually the same "ugly" things) lots to be humorous that are typically depressing. Life is funny that way. Of course, that is my own subjective view.
Speaking of subjective beauty (and speaking to my love of the cinema), go see Children of Men. Not only does it star Clive Owen (yum), but it is probably the most beautiful thing you will see all year. And if you disagree, I want to know why.
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