Why Hemingway killed himself...

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Were in college and all up in arms about, Dear God! when we graduate, WHAT ARE WE GOING TO DO? To be honest, we all need to be a lot more fucking worried about WHO WE ARE GOING TO BE.

Frank will forever just be a crank or a lever on a machine of which he is only a part. As a matter of fact, he's not even Frank, he's #345 at the bank.

I want to be a cop or a fireman- that's gonna be hard if I'm not John Heavey first. Plato says you need your arete in order to perfect your techne, and here I am knowing that only so I can put it in a paper- I'm not even a student.

Life is a dirt path 250,000 miles long- if you take that there shiny train, you'll get to the end in no time, and then enjoy the nice throne set atop the pile of quicksand. Walk with your two feet, step step step- watch out for the puddles and rocks- and you'll be dead by the time you get to the end, but would have seen and expierenced every inch of the road. The walkingman will put his cold face into the dirt at the same time trainrider #1 breathes his last breath above the quicksand. Whichdeath would you choose? How are you working your way through those miles right now?


I'm not sure it's that serious,
JH