Desperate fellowship in sickness is the worst thing that can befall a civilization.
So that, when you ask, as per your personal tendency, if this person to whom you speak is typically battling suicidal urges, you, as a perma-case in that regard, should hope like hell that the answer is somewhere along the lines of, well, yes, but then I turned sixteen.
Because the alternative is, what, counterproductive?
It is not so much death that terrifies twentieth-century humanity as the absence of real life: the lifeless gestures, the mechanized, specialized gestures that steal portions of life hundreds, thousands of times a day until mind and body are exhausted, until an end comes that is less the end of life than an absence at saturation point.
No comments:
Post a Comment