This is the tragedy: Consciousness has forced us into the paradoxical position of striving to be unself-conscious of what we are — hunks of spoiling flesh on disintegrating bones.
This is the tragedy: Consciousness has forced us into the paradoxical position of striving to be unself-conscious of what we are — hunks of spoiling flesh on disintegrating bones.
“A book is the vegetal pulp left behind by man. And now, after countless centuries of digging up and studying palimpsests and engraved tablets, they’re saying that we should just allow those dead, abandoned cities to become buried again beneath the windblown sentiment…”
Viscount Emilio Lascano Tegui | On Elegance While Sleeping