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So what now huh? What do you want from me? Yeah I could do it. We both know you wouldn’t stop me. So answer me please, tell me what you’re doing. Okay, let’s look at the logic. You create man. Man suffers enormous amounts of pain. Man dies. Maybe you should’ve had just a few more brain storming sessions prior to creation. You rested on the seventh day. Maybe you should have spent it on compassion. You know what? You’re not worth it.
I’ve been doing P.O.S. mini-lab work for over 20 years now. I consider it an important job. When people’s houses are on fire, what’s the first thing they save after their pets and their loved ones are safe? The family photos. Some people think that this is a job for a clerk. They actually believe that any idiot that attends a two-day seminar can master the art of making beautiful prints in less than an hour. Of course, like most things, there’s far more to it than meets the eye. I’ve seen the prints they fop off on people at the Rexall or Fotek, milky washed out prints, too dark prints. There’s no sense of reverence for the service they’re providing for people. I process these photos as if they were my own.
Goooood morning Vietnam!
So if I asked you about art you’d probably give me the skinny on every art book ever written. Michelangelo? You know a lot about him. Life’s work, political aspirations, him and the pope, sexual orientation, the whole works, right? But I bet you can’t tell me what it smells like in the Sistine Chapel. You’ve never actually stood there and looked up at that beautiful ceiling. Seen that. If I asked you about women you’d probably give me a syllabus of your personal favorites. You may have even been laid a few times. But you can’t tell me what it feels like to wake up next to a woman and feel truly happy. You’re a tough kid. I ask you about war, and you’d probably, uh, throw Shakespeare at me, right? “Once more into the breach, dear friends.” But you’ve never been near one. You’ve never held your best friend’s head in your lap and watched him gasp his last breath, looking to you for help. And if I asked you about love you probably quote me a sonnet. But you’ve never looked at a woman and been totally vulnerable. Known someone could level you with her eyes. Feeling like! God put an angel on earth just for you…who could rescue you from the depths of hell. And you wouldn’t know what it’s like to be her angel and to have that love for her to be there forever. Through anything. Through cancer. You wouldn’t know about sleeping sitting’ up in a hospital room for two months holding her hand because the doctors could see in your eyes that the term visiting hours don’t apply to you. You don’t know about real loss, because that only occurs when you love something more than you love yourself. I doubt you’ve ever dared to love anybody that much. I look at you; I don’t see an intelligent, confident man; I see a cocky, scared shitless kid. But you’re a genius, Will. No one denies that. No one could possibly understand the depths of you. But you presume to know everything about me because you saw a painting of mine and you ripped my fuckin’ life apart. You’re an orphan right? Do you think I’d know the first thing about how hard ! your life has been, how you feel, who you are because I read Oliver Twist? Does that encapsulate you? Personally, I don’t give a shit about all that, because you know what? I can’t learn anything from you I can’t read in some fuckin’ book. Unless you wanna talk about you, who you are. And I’m fascinated. I’m in. But you don’t wanna do that, do you, sport? You’re terrified of what you might say. Your move, chief.
Thank you, gentlemen. If you noticed, everyone started off with their own stride, their own pace. Mr. Pitts taking his time. He knew he’ll get there one day. Mr. Cameron you could see him thinking, “Is this right? It might be right. It might be right. I know that. Maybe not. I don’t know.” Mr. Overstreet driven by deeper force. Yes. We know that. Alright. Now, I didn’t bring them up here to ridicule them. I brought them up here to illustrate the point of conformity. The difficulty in maintaining your own beliefs in the face of others. Now, those of you, I see the look in your eyes like, “I would’ve walked differently.” Well, ask yourselves why you were clapping. Now, we all have a great need for acceptance. But you must trust that your beliefs are unique, your own, even though others may think them odd or unpopular, even though the herd may go, “That’s bad.” Robert Frost said, “Two roads diverged in a wood and I, I took the one less traveled by, and that has made all the difference.” Now, I want you to find your own walk right now. Your own way of striding, pacing. Any direction. Anything you want. Whether it’s proud, whether it’s silly, anything. Gentlemen, the courtyard is yours.