Immoralist

Halfway through this book by Andre Gide....
A phrase struck me..." in art there are no problems..."
The way it was explained, the unspoken line seems to be... "only drama."

In art there are no problems, only drama.

My brother chatting over late morning coffee adds, "contradictions..."

Oo, I thought. A woman of deep connections with me has turned enemy; a seemingly nice guy, a cunning blackmailer; and, teacher I adored for so many years, who molded my soul into light, a degrader.

I read equality and forgotten how to practise. My school a nationalist, but existing away from the mass.

Contradiction. Life is. I step forward and end up miles away from the finish line. As a friend said, we declare ownership because we do not own. We claim because we cannot possess.

Drama. Years of childhood gaiety gone, only adult sadness. In the middle of crisis, people we want leave. Those we puke at seeing, stay.

So I just look at life as art. In life, there are no problems, just contradictions.