Why do some days inevitably feel half-lived? Why do some decisions cause deep regrets? Why don't I have a 'planner' like most respectable adults? Why don't I settle down, get married, have 2.5 kids, get a good job that has benefits like health insurance, buy a big flat screen t.v and just try to be fucking happy? Live closer to my family? Why don't I do sit-ups even though I know my stomach is out of shape from too much pizza and junk food? Why am I still so hung up on creating something beautiful that has meaning and is relevant for human beings besides myself? Why do I live in NYC? Why do I go to the cinema alone sometimes? Why do I care about the anti-eye-candy art of Richard Serra? Why am I frustrated by three well known NYC Art Museums featuring exhibits where 1980's style video games are employed? (I love the 80's too but enough is enough.)
Why do I sigh late at night alone in my room wondering what could have been, should have been? Why must I still be thinking on you? Why did Rilke see that marble torso of Apollo and say to himself, "you must change your life"?
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