A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man

I think I can confidently say now that Irish literature bores the life out of me.  If I wanted to read about Jesus and hellfire, I would have opened the bible.  Is this book telling us that all artists live without God?  Perhaps that is somewhat true, but that is the way I prefer it.

My life as a dabbler in art never consisted of religion.  I was surrounded by it, and was even directly exposed to it at times, but it was from the start an extremely foreign and ridiculous notion.  Why live your entire life in fear of some story that ends in punishment, simply because you wanted to experience pleasure while you're friggin' alive?  What the hell kind of spiteful creator is that?  The whole notion makes me uncomfortable and rather angry.

Even though Dedalus chose art in the end and he is basically agreeing with me, it bothers me that he was so devout to begin with.  I AM SO GLAD THIS READ IS OVER.

I guess there was never any other path for me than to be drawn to art.