Not angry - haven't felt that once, strangely, and I am a reasonably irascible old man. Just surges of disbelief at the kinds of things said on tv and radio; the damnable dance of politicians and the professional pundit puke while shattered hearts lie bleeding true blood. Warm and wet. The stirring promise of endless battlefields to satisfy lust for metaphoric blood. Just experiencing, along with a legion of others, the advancing exhaustion of some subtle psychical strata due to encompassing more than the emotional machinery is yet (if ever) evolved to accomodate without something palpable and accessible to touch. Lots of pictures but no picture. Lack of effect leading to lack of affect. Absurdity of trying to comfort a grieving loved one by email. Not that there's anything to say, only the will to feel alongside of. O world of lost children believing in disbelief instead of doubting doubt. History returns to the starting point armed with ever less poignant weapons. Image of a Fireman on the 31st floor of a crumbling tower when the heavens suddenly open and forever rushes in like a leviathan come to reclaim her young.Journal of Robert Hunter.
originally posted by xowie
