I feel guilty about being alive. My sister-in-law is dead. Why am I alive? I should be dead, too. That would be good. I wish I had also been martyred that day. Death would have been better than this kind of life."Wounds of Waziristan": Exclusive Broadcast of New Film on Pakistanis Haunted by U.S. Drone War
It’s so bizarre being a product of the time in which I was born; it’s so strange experiencing and learning to understand what I can and cannot empathize with. I just listened to an hour-and-a-half of tenor arias as a part of an assignment for my college music studies and to cleanse my pallet I’m listening to a collection of “the early gurus of electronic music”. I have no positive emotional reaction to these men with their vibrato full tilt, belting out their ‘spirits’ - it does nothing for me. It, in fact, seems frivolous. Our value systems clash. On the other hand, post-war avant-garde art hits me right in the gut, whether it’s Rothko’s beautiful black paintings or John Cage’s “Williams Mix” “for eight simultaneously played independent quarter-inch magnetic tapes”. For whatever reason I have more of a visceral connection to tape loops of passenger trains than human males and their vocal chords (at least when in that style). It was the first time I’ve heard the “Williams Mix” and it was a live performance. Had I been alive, I would have been the guy at the end yelling, repeatedly, “Bravo!”
"I would rather live my life as if there is a God and die to find out there isn’t, than live my life as if there isn’t and die to find out there is." - not Albert Camus. I repeat: NOT Albert Camus. A quote commonly attributed to Camus which is, at best, often misinterpreted (Camus was an atheist) but more likely, never spoken or written by the man at all.