When it's all added up, papa, it will be:
he wrote a few good stories, had a novel and fresh approach to reality
and he destroyed five persons - Hadley, Pauline, Marty , Patrick and possibly myself.
Which do you think is the most important,
your self-centered shit, the stories or the people?
Heart-breaking. Although I think people better stop blaming their parents for their miseries - I don't deny that parents could destroy one's life, however once you begin to notice it you shall try your best to get out of it. I know it's not easy at all-.
Still seeing these lines touches somewhere. Especially if you are struggling with yourself, your desires, your darkest holes, your fears, your limitations while walking through the path of art. How far can I go? What can I sacrifice from to express this thing in me, to make it real, to flesh it out?
Why people see to kill for God or to sacrifice for God unacceptable but admire to those who could do anything for Art?
What I believe is the art is the artist or the limits of the artist is the limit of the art.
What I cannot figure out yet is that how far I should go...
What I realize after this letter is that there's nothing more dramatic than this question from a son to his father:
Which do you think is the most important,
your self-centered shit, the stories or the people?
