Today in Brit. Lit.

This literature is like torture to my soul. There is no logic, no linear progress. It is all randomness. What right do these dysfunctional people have to talk about Heaven, Truth and Love? They are all so deranged. They have never known even one of the three. How much I would give for some logic and thought this very moment. Yes, their descriptions may seem life-like, but what is the sense in studying these people that have only lived inside one man's head? How much better my time could be spent studying the rise and fall of a nation. Students of literature can't even decide and agree upon the "meaning" of any work. These pieces were written by men, not gods. And again I ask, why study the creations of the imaginations belonging to the deranged? These words I penned during my literature class, which is why my language is not as it is normally.

Crispy