“Everything has been said,” the woman proclaimed from across the room as if drunk. She drew closer to the dining table where a young artist sat preoccupied with his novel and a finished cup of tea.
“How do you mean, ‘everything has been said’?” His eyes remained on the page.
“Precisely that. Every story that could be told has been. Every portrait that could have been painted was. That novel in your grasp—it has already been written, many times over…
It is observed that the weakest young in a nest of storks is killed off by its mother to increase the chances of survival for the remaining hatchlings; to her, the sacrifice is performed with righteous extent, and to us, a necessary, congenital pursuit of nature. But how could this be so?—for if each may be cursed with the underpinnings of hindrance, to what benefit would such unavailing harmony exist between the mother and her young? A display of preservation…
"Great are the stars,
and humankind is of no account to them.
But humankind is a fair spirit
whom a star conceived,
and a star kills."
An ethereality and requisition of humanistic meditation; monumental work by Jóhann Jóhannsson. Monumental.
"What happens when a new work of art is created is something that happens simultaneously to all the works of art which preceded it. The existing monuments form an ideal order among themselves, which is modified by the introduction of the…
Bells
We are forever naive until we aren't, until our hope is forcefully stripped away, mercilessly and viscously. The innocence that was the light, loud in its character, inviting and generous, now violated; contained and averse to the notion of its innate radiation. All that remains is the deceiver and the deceived; the killer of hope and the hope that is killed; the cheater and the cheated; the depriver and the deprived. All inseparable, contained within the same, desolate circle…
