Writing / Andy Warhol's Sister / 1989 / Deep & Savage Way / Helen of Santa Zita / Moscow Film World / Guide

Truth & Beauty One day Mike decided to instill values of truth and beauty into his life. He was inspired by the books he had been reading in his literature courses. The order and structure of such novels as James Joyce's Ulysses and Virginia Woolf's To the Lighthouse were immensely appealing to him. In comparison to these great works, Mike's own life seemed mundane and ordinary. Unlike Leopold Bloom or Lily Briscoe, he didn't have any philosophical or symbolic motifs running through his own life. He decided to do something about it. Mike first discussed it with his roommate, Anthony. —What I need to do is develop some symbolic themes. You know, like Lily Briscoe's painting­a developing symbol that mirrors my life as a whole. —What? —I want to be like a character in a novel. —Mike, you think too much. You're gonna go crazy. You are crazy. After Anthony uttered this prophecy, he left. The first thing Mike decided to do was rearrange his room. He started with his desk. As he moved things around, he talked to himself happily. —Let's see. I'll put my computer on the right side of the desk, to symbolize the right side of my brain, the side that governs logic and reason, which is what the computer is a function of. Then, I'll put my literature books on the left side, corresponding to the left side of the brain, which is the side of art and creativity. Mike then looked at his compact discs. —Well, these are art, too. So they go on the left side. He pushed the pile over, next to the books. —Then again, they are very technological. Maybe they should be on the right. Mike sat down on the chair facing the desk, and put both hands on the edge of the desk. He thought hard. —Actually, my computer also has art on it, so I'm not sure it should be on the right side, either. Oh, dear. Mike finally put the compact discs on the center of the shelf. He looked at them dissatisfied, but could not think of any other arrangement that felt any better. He then started work on the drawers. First, he took out a package of condoms. —This represents sexuality. I'll put in the bottom drawer, in the back, to represent my unconscious, the dark, sexual part of me I keep locked away. In the top drawer, I'll put my checks, and receipts, to represent my practical, superficial exterior. However, practicality is on the right side. Mike looked at the desk unhappily. All of the drawers were on the left side. —Well, that's okay for the condoms, they belong on the left side, but not for my financial stuff. What am I going to do? Mike wondered if he could get a new desk. Two The next day, Mike talked to Susan in the campus coffee shop. He and Susan had been gradually moving towards a relationship in the previous months, but something about it had bothered Mike. After his revelation of truth and beauty, he realized that their gradual, halting steps towards the elusive goal of emotional closeness had lacked the rhythm and poetry he was now seeking in life. Mike decided he need to communicate these concerns to Susan. —Susan, I think our relationship lacks the kind of truth and beauty it could have. Susan touched a strand of her blond hair. She leaned forward. —Our relationship? —Lately, I've been trying to instill values of truth and beauty into my life. The problem is, you are a major part of my life, and yet, I can't really see the order of the things we do. Two weeks ago, we kissed passionately on the lawn after Dave's party. The next night, we saw a movie, and didn't do anything sexual at all. —Then, in the middle of the week, we had a long intense discussion, and you explained why we shouldn't get involved. Then, two days later, we got together again. I've tried for the last few days to put in some kind of coherent, aesthetic framework, but I can't. It seems like things just happen. It's not something James Joyce would write. —Who's James Joyce? —He's a writer. An Irish one, very famous. He wrote The Portrait of An Artist As a Young Man and Ulysses. —Really? What happens in them? —Well, in Ulysses there are these two guys, Leopold Bloom, and Stephen Dedalus. The novels shows them both walking around Dublin, and several times, they almost meet. Then, near the end, they do meet, and afterwards, go to Leopold's house­ —So you want our relationship to be like that? Wandering around? —Well, the point of the novel isn't that they're wandering around, it's that their wanderings have all of these resonances with the entire history of western civilization. Leopold Bloom is like Ulysses, sort of acting out that classic myth by Homer, while Stephen Dedalus is more like Shakespeare's Hamlet. The thing is, Susan, I want my life, and our relationship, to have the same kind of metaphorical meaning. —So you want our relationship to be like a story? —Yeah, kind of. —How about When Harry Met Sally? We could be friends for a really long time, and then become lovers some time way off in the future, when we finally realize we've loved each other all along. Three Mike was rearranging Anthony's things. His roommate tended to leave his belongings scattered around the room. The mess didn't bother Mike as much as his realization that the mess was random, and not indicative of Anthony's character, and such a discontinuity offended Mike's nascent aesthetic sensibilities. While Mike was changing Anthony's messiness to a messiness more suited to his character, Anthony himself walked in. He had just been playing basketball. —What are you doing? —Anthony, if my life is to have truth and beauty, I can't live with someone who just puts their stuff wherever. —Whatever. Just don't fuck with my stuff, okay. Anthony bounced the basketball on the carpeted floor for emphasis. —Anthony, you don't understand. How can anyone live without truth and beauty? Mike sank to his knees, looked at the bags of tortilla chips and pretzels he had just been arranging. The universe seemed futile to him­truth and order and structure were illusory, the product of long-dead writers determined to drive him insane. Tears came to Mike's eyes. —How can I live without truth and beauty? Mike stood, and ran out of the room. Anthony stared after him, struck mute, feeling within him a sensation of pity and fear he had never before experienced, and would long after recall with a shudder. Four For the next few days, Mike wandered the campus like a madman. He felt he was an outcast, and was determined to present that image. He did not bathe, or shave, or even comb his hair. He wore the same clothes, and slept in piles of dirt. Occasionally, he would shake his fist and shout at the sky. —If truth and beauty are such hated concepts in this society, then I am proud to be an outcast! One afternoon, Mike came down from the forest, and confronted a group of students waiting for their class to start. When he approached, they stared nervously. —This dirt, these rags, all mean something! It's exactly what I should have, for someone in my state. Are you wearing, and saying, and doing, everything exactly as you should, for the kind of person you are? Mike pointed to one girl's clothes. She was wearing sandals, a miniskirt and a t-shirt that read ‘Peace.’ —Did you think this morning, what it means when you wear that? Or did you just throw on the first thing you saw? Did you think before you did your hair that way? What are you saying about yourself? Is it true? Is there beauty in it? Or is just random, futile, like everything else? The girl edged away, but was struck by compassion and did not run away. Her arm was clutched by her friend. The two stared as Mike collapsed at their feet, famished and exhausted, at the utter limit of his resources. Five —Mike, I think you're setting an impossibly high standard, both for yourself, and the rest of the world. —What do you mean? —Well, when James Joyce, whom you've often mentioned in our conversations, created a character such as Leopold Bloom, it took him years of intense work to create the framework of details and references which make up the metaphorical beauty that you seem to be seeking. —Yes. —Well, Mike, my point is, that metaphorical beauty is incredibly difficult to create. —But why is it so difficult? —It's difficult because to make everything mean something is not a task we can perform, in our own lives, as we are living it. Do you think James Joyce applied the same standards to his own life, as he did to his writing? —I don't know. —Well, in between our last meeting and today, I did a little research. Mike, you might not believe this, but James Joyce did a lot things for no good reason­he drank, sang, fought, and would have been the first to admit that it didn't all make a unified sense. —He used his own life in his writing, but improved upon it, made it both beautiful and truthful, though. —Exactly my point. And that's what you need to learn to do, Mike. Take things from your life, and make them meaningful, later on. But don't try to do it as you're living. You can't. Nobody can. —You're right. I guess I've been kind of silly. —Well, don't worry about it, Mike. I think it's been a growing experience. And after that conversation, Mike never again had difficulty with the concepts of truth and beauty.