Rebel Rebel

Dream as if you'll live forever. Live as if you'll die today.
-- James Dean

James Dean has been dead 50 years now. He made three movies. I spent the morning at work listening to a BBC special narrated by Johnny Depp about how wonderful James Dean was. Such talent, such looks, raw energy and all that business. All the wonderfulness was giving me a splitting headache. There's something inherently depressing about reading, watching, or listening to biographies about famous people, because you can't help but compare their trajectory in life to your own . Notice how I didn't mention happiness? Who cares about happiness. I am talking about the lucky ones that figure out their purpose in life, go after it, and master it. When you are young, stories like James Dean's formative years are inspirational. When you are older, and you realize you are on a one way path to mediocrity, they are annoying.

It's Friday, and I am lying here in my bed without a sheet on it. I have no clothes on, and I have just gotten out of the bath. It seems that's all I have been doing this past week, reading in the bath. It took me most of the summer to get through the Beat Generation, but less than two weeks to get through the Lost Generation. Which is where I find myself this fall. Not in love like I had proclaimed so foolishly in the spring, but lost.

What is my purpose and what am I to do. I see opportunity all around me but cannot seem to muster the creative energy to do anything. I am frozen, solid. The seasons change and the years pass, and I live everyday like I will be here forever, still.