I sometimes get caught floating in the Land of La Mancha, this ain't good for a Samurai Scholar with Zotoichi Tendencies. A blind Don Quixote, a reverie-laden Swordsman, how can that be good ?
I get caught by webs of Honesty and Truthfulness. That passage in the Catcher in the Rye where the Head Shit Head confesses, "I want to be a catcher in the rye". I'm there with that Utmost Impracticality, the Savior of every human Lemming that has ever existed, Those Ravaged who lack their own Identity, who are transported by Mob Irrationality, Those who are assailed by the Futility of Exstence and All ITS HORROR, the Ones that I want to yell out STOP ! JUST FUCKING STOP THIS !
YOU DON'T KNOW WHAT YOU ARE DOING OR WHERE YOU ARE GOING !
But if they listen, look and stop --- then what ? What do I HAVE for them ? Salinger never addresses This Next. I mean, what then ? I mean, Suppose they're rite ? Suppose the ONLY solution to Suffering is DEATH ? Why should I stop them ? Who am I to stand in their way exhorting "Life is what you make it ?"
Would I then not become my BIGGEST Fear ? A hapless, once nobleman, demented from geriatric senility ---- waving a "feather" Sword at Towering Windmill Infernos ??
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