Heed

They view a film, and bore over brilliant yet delicate detail. They sit in the mezzanine, unable to associate themselves with the magnificence pouring off the stage and washing over the audience. The synchronization of every pitched bow gliding over a resplendent melody, lays their head to rest. Those who read a book then close their eyes, neglecting to take refuge in the splendor of a tale. They despise an original experience with knowledge. Even if by accident, they happen into one, they soon sprint back into every vice that has ever consumed them. They find solace in things that comfort their neuroticisms, that put their mind to sleep. They drink to pure selfish content. They chase down every high with perpetuating enthusiasm, but one high is never enough. Just like no car is ever fast enough, no crib is ever swanky enough, and no woman is ever beautiful enough. They are the ones with autonomy in their hearts, the ones with longing behind their eyes, the ones with sadness in their footsteps. I pity them, but with no condescension. They are my sisters and brothers, my fellow humans. Why do I speak of them so?

Because there is so much more to life than to gratify every lavish or immediate desire. Because when you work for something brilliant, and take the time necessary to complete it with full accuracy and intuition, it holds more pride than any chest. It will hold more hope than any program, and it will hold their attention when you're through.

The intellectual pursuit is never ending, to go along with you're insatiable desire...