I need to talk. I cannot think of reality as much as I should for my own sake. I cannot be in this world, I see no sense or aim, or truth. In this world I mean today, tomorrow, yesterday. Every day I feel uncouth, I see the shrewd, the rowdy, the pretentious. Only knowledge has meaning. But only by itself, not by any higher meaning. As art is best when made for the sake of itself. All art is meaningless and so is knowledge when it rises above the practical brim where it becomes beautiful. But it is hard to be meaningless. I am Oscar.