Give me a glass of wine and i’ll read you the poem i never like.
Perhaps we live with too much philosophy and reasoning. So we forget the practicalities, the what-happen-in-the-middle. No one tries to fix the agony of being lulled by fantasies and utopia and hopes and historical glorification.
One day, either tomorrow or 2084, we will look at human beings as pure melancholia. Western buddhism might be a mistake we cannot cancel. A faux carpe diem ways of life, mixed with the faux environmentalism (for the poor? meh), added with faux mindfulness cum instagramable illusion. Oh please.
Pour me another more. So i can read you a love letter from the poet i never like.
Too many falsity and deceit and tales. Can we still expect at least a piece of truth, from the night when work/life has collapsed into ontological revolution? Here, in this hypocrisy a la scientific-neolib-green-capitalistic-developed-colonial brain, we are gonna lose again against the war of black/white, a/z, i/you dichotomies.
No narrative. No malaise. Only discourse. And red wine. And the desire of being ethical without really being ethical and with accusation of unethical to the groups of men who perhaps more ethical than they who claim themselves ethical. But.. what is ethics by the way? Another western hubris? An alibi for collective amnesia?
(city of life sciences,
1 februari 2018)
