War as art and adventure.

 I want a catastrophe to occur, a war to break out. Simply so that something, anything, might change. For only such a profound rupture could shatter this endless routine. Someone reading this might prejudicially say, “Then go to where there’s war.” But they don’t realize that modern wars have long lost their artistry. In past centuries, even war had a nobility. They were narrated with poetry, then turned into myth, and etched in oil paintings. Everything was sacred and aesthetic. Now? Merely the crude crackle of rifles and the rubble of concrete. I wish I had lived during the World Wars; it doesn’t matter which one. I would love to experience the haunting adventure and the rawness of human connection forged in those times. I don’t care whether circumstances would kill me. All I know is this: even if I were to die, I would die in a state of immense awe.