baldwin-tragic

December 22, 2024

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Life is tragic simply because the earth turns and the sun inexorably rises and sets, and one day, for each of us, the sun will go down for the last, last time. Perhaps the whole root of our trouble, the human trouble, is that we will sacrifice all the beauty of our lives, will imprison ourselves in totems, taboos, crosses, blood sacrifices, steeples, mosques, races, armies, flags, nations, in order to deny the fact of death, the only fact we have. It seems to me that one ought to rejoice in the fact of death — ought to decide, indeed, to earn one’s death by confronting with passion the conundrum of life. One is responsible for life: It is the small beacon in that terrifying darkness from which we come and to which we shall return.

Thought:

“The hive closes in, and we take it, we close toward the dark. The watchers look, look again, and then the want. You’re all dressed, why? And we, the hive, as meadow before them.

Welcome, we shape.

A declaration. A prayer. An insurrection. In this moment a power, our claws in and pulling; the rest of the world needs money and rules and whole buildings and our world needs profumo and password, rooms and tunnels and armoires, a whole room of bougainvillea and the secret.”

Lisa Marie Basile | Nympholepsy

Christian Molenaar

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