The world itself is much more magical than any of our fantasies about it tend to be, but that’s because those fantasies aren’t about the world at all. They're about us.
I just returned from a week at the beach. One night we walked along the shore and it was so dark, even with the community of condominiums behind us, that I couldn't see where the ocean ended and the sky began. It was all just black, the void. I took a picture of Scorpius. It was terrifying and awe inspiring.
I would plunge into the waves, in daytime, and the force of them was thrilling and frightening though I wasn't more than 20 feet from the sand.
For all the talk of Bodies from the left, for all the desire to be different from what nature has made us, it seems like few of the activists actually live in their real bodies. Standing in the surf I saw how easily I could be dragged away and gone, body and soul. Perspective.
The monster is the spirit, the meme, the animus moving amongst the men of the polis, huddled in their quiet masses within the glass cities that flank the rippling frothing seas. Men and women of the polis have built themselves glass towers to shield themselves from the unspeakable truths of the outside world. They stair glibly into the abyss of eyes that stair back confusing their reflections for other people. Their coddled neuropathy and simple narratives a blanket and lullaby to keep them sleep walking, dazed, sedated, ever knowing that outside the walls of glass live beasts. What we outside the wall call nature and living things, always separate, always removed from those that are already dead.
I haven't wept in years. My heart had developed a blackened rind that nothing could penetrate anymore. Until just now, after reading this. I can't thank you enough.
I just returned from a week at the beach. One night we walked along the shore and it was so dark, even with the community of condominiums behind us, that I couldn't see where the ocean ended and the sky began. It was all just black, the void. I took a picture of Scorpius. It was terrifying and awe inspiring.
I would plunge into the waves, in daytime, and the force of them was thrilling and frightening though I wasn't more than 20 feet from the sand.
For all the talk of Bodies from the left, for all the desire to be different from what nature has made us, it seems like few of the activists actually live in their real bodies. Standing in the surf I saw how easily I could be dragged away and gone, body and soul. Perspective.
I just want to say, brilliant. Brilliant, truthful, cutting through the crap, writing. Thank you.
Rhyd, I have to ask you - was your experience the inspiration for Francis Aaron's song? https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pQrYQAYmaOk
This is an amazing essay. thank you so much! Gets at exactly what's going on.
The monster is the spirit, the meme, the animus moving amongst the men of the polis, huddled in their quiet masses within the glass cities that flank the rippling frothing seas. Men and women of the polis have built themselves glass towers to shield themselves from the unspeakable truths of the outside world. They stair glibly into the abyss of eyes that stair back confusing their reflections for other people. Their coddled neuropathy and simple narratives a blanket and lullaby to keep them sleep walking, dazed, sedated, ever knowing that outside the walls of glass live beasts. What we outside the wall call nature and living things, always separate, always removed from those that are already dead.
I haven't wept in years. My heart had developed a blackened rind that nothing could penetrate anymore. Until just now, after reading this. I can't thank you enough.