Something vast should happen. Some Cosmological event. Greater than anything we could imagine. A catastrophe. That would match up to our deepest desires. What we really Want. What we really Long For. An End. So we could just give up doing … whatever it is we do.
No more. No More of this. An end to it all. A full stop – wouldn’t you like that? Wouldn’t that simplify things?
Things just go on, instead. Things go on and just become more and more complicated. And twisted. And gnarled. And buckled. Things get old, and as they get old, they become insoluble …
We can’t be saved anymore, that’s what I think. We’re too old to be saved, and for everything to be solved. We’re too old for salvation. That’s for children. That’s for postgraduates. In our case … we’re as corrupted at the world. As ugly. And we can’t be saved.
All that’s going to happen: new twists in our wretchedness. New episodes of self-torture. New sinkings. New descents. New collapses …
Work in Progress 