Science and Art

I'm in a constant state of confusion.

Not normal "where the hell am I" confusion, but a state of confusion in which I find myself with more questions than answers.
Whenever I'm doing something mundane like walking (and I walk a lot) I dump my hands in my pockets, dip my head to the ground and I start debating with myself. Funnily enough (not really), I've landed in quite a few a tricky situations when, while in this mode, someone (mostly a "chav" who's jealous of my long, black, beautiful hair) will say something to me, and, with me totally oblivious of the world around me, this person will take it as rudeness. But even if I heard what this person had said, chances are it wasn't a good thing anyway, so I'm probably fucked from the beginning.

This "problem" started years ago, when I was 9 years old, in fact. When we first started doing dinosaurs, I couldn't get my teacher to answer my questions regarding God and dinosaurs. As a result (note, this isn't one of the only reasons I turned away school as my primary learning medium), I began an intense love affair with books, and later, I discovered the documentary. If my teacher wasn't going to answer those questions, someone else would.
The thing is, as the years have passed, more questions (from the existence of God to chaos mathematics to human nature) began emerging from the deep, dark caverns called Me. And, no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't read enough books or watch enough documentaries. There just wasn't enough time.

At the age of 13, I stumbled on another Jupiter-sized boulder: art. Quickly, I discovered there was another side to the geeky bookworm. I look back at my life, and I can see it split in two (if not more).

There's the scientific side: I remember Darwin and evolution. I remember getting bored of the school library's (the best library in town) non-fiction books, and having to take out the same ones all over again. I remember my first scientific debate (which I lost because of childish ignorance). I remember burning my eyelashes in an experiment gone wrong, then lying about it. I remember sneaking out at night just so I could take a walk at two in the morning.

And then there's the artistic side: I remember Kubrick. I remember walking around the house singing hymns out loud before I could even write the words to those hymns. I remember (and one of the two only things I remember) painting in preschool. I remember writing a (very short) screenplay and numerous short stories for my friends. I remember my high school band. I remember kicking all my classmate's asses in art class. I remember making my own graphic novel.

This artistic side hampered my quest for answers. Though, fortunately, it also drew my mind away from the burning questions.

A few years ago, I lay in bed for two and a half hours. Staring at the ceiling, then the wall, and then the ceiling again. I'd realized that after all these years, after all the books and documentaries and endless lectures, I still couldn't answer that very first question.
So I decided to find that answer, once and for all, all or nothing.
Gleick. Hawking. Freud. Darwin. And right from Socrates through to Turing.

So... have I finally answered that question? Nope. But with all those books I had to read to find out (1) why I have all these infernal questions and (2) how I can answer them, I've suddenly achieved a sudden sense of where my place in history lies.

My artistic brilliance is at war with my unique understanding of science.

The moral of the story? If you want only art, you've come to the wrong place. If you want only science, you've come to the wrong place. And these two subjects aren't the only ones.
But if you have burning questions which plague your mind, and you want a less biased view of life, and more passion than Italy and France put together, you've come to the right place.

If there's thing one I can guarantee, it's that with your help, I may just be able answer my questions after all. And, as long as you keep reading, I may just change your life.

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