"What is literature?"
Majority of the population uses a concept of some sort to keep them glued together; many people rely on religion, their nation, their culture, literature, etc, as a crutch of support. But it seems that countless barrelling questions through the ages continue to tear holes in all of these beliefs. Sometimes when answers to these questions cannot be found people come across new realizations that make it often hard to defend initial ideologies. The world is ever changing; always evolving. In this way, nothing appears to ever be what it seems. A person can always know something more than what they did before. How then does anyone REALLY know when the truth is a lie?
How's that for a skewed perception of the world.
That is the beauty of the imagination; it is your own and no one can pull it out from beneath you. Literature can take you places, show you things, teach you. Teachings can be found out to be wrong over time, but how can writing that evokes the imagination ever be taken away from you and proved to be incorrect. Those images are yours forever.
Don't get me wrong, I'm not remotely suggesting not to believe in anything for fear of being corrected; I have beliefs of my own. Our beliefs help build our character. I'm just deliberating how nice it is to have the power to make something your own undoubtedly. For that I want to thank the literature of entertainment for allowing our minds to create and escape to other worlds more stable than the real one.
This painting of Salvidor Dali's just reminded me of my blog post (not the title of the painting). I just thought, even the concept of time is malleable. We count the minutes, we count the days, the months, the years. We could be put on the earth for the same span as many others and we will all age differently. For some people the time flys by and for others it rolls past like a tumbleweed in the desert. Sometimes time can even be taken away without a moments notice or a second glance.
"The Persistence of Memory" -Salvidor Dali
