Whether I shall turn out to be the hero of my own life, or whether that station will be held by anybody else, these pages must show.
As I stare at the name on the Librarian’s Office door I feel I have a perspective at this precise moment that has thus failed me in the practice of living.
Everyone thinks I am nuts and maybe I am. I have clung thus far to the idea that others have to catch up with my brilliance. There are energies in me which are wild and alien and cannot always be expelled by a walk or a swim.
The culture of fitness is a battle for the soul. I don’t want to be the asshole in Lyra dancing to too many beats per second. I wanted to be a writer. I aspired to be an artist without any real account of it’s worth.
Once I had believed – like that foolish Gilbert Gorilla – that success would lead to power and power would get me laid. Success is not always the result of self belief and arrogance however. Talent does not always follow. Work ethic is rarely on the pull. Women see through you eventually.
I recognize now that my madness is the battle for a humble soul; a child I had abandoned; an unloved adult I lost in all relationships.
As I stepped through that door I knew; while the Librarian sold dreams of potential to the masses ironically mine woulf die among books.
I would be just like all the rest of the library staff, unfulfilled and left to swim among them in a murky sea of bitterness.