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I wonder if the person born of this chrysalis will better understand sweet things. Sugary and saccharine things have always been so alien to me, and one mustn’t forget what has helped before, as one owes it a debt of gratitude, but what if the emerging person has begun to understand the opiate, the power and joy of the balm?
For just one moment, I want someone to hear a song the way I hear it. The frisson of a transition, the beauty of dissonance, the three dimensional landscape invoked in my mind by several layers of different sounds.
Perhaps I wonder about this sweetness because I hope, if in emerging able to grasp sweetness I can feel it as others do, that I shall become like them. This is, however, impossible; and desirable or not, it is not to be hoped for.
What if all were one? If it meant we were narrow it would be a tragedy. It would, however, be a source of peace until a division were necessary. But what if Kaworu is right? We are human because we are alone. Yet I am reminded that, lacking water, we make a religion revering thirst. Humanity without distinction, humanity without death, would not be human. But it doesn’t mean it should not be.
It doesn’t matter much. Such conceits are fiction. Be they a heaven or a hell, they are not of this world.
And it’s not as though what emerges will be any less myself than the cocoon of terror and pain I hope to slough off, nor the thing which was wrapped in it in March. If I become alien to myself, I nevertheless am me, and to despise that would be a tragedy.
For just one moment, I want someone to hear a song the way I hear it. The frisson of a transition, the beauty of dissonance, the three dimensional landscape invoked in my mind by several layers of different sounds.
Perhaps I wonder about this sweetness because I hope, if in emerging able to grasp sweetness I can feel it as others do, that I shall become like them. This is, however, impossible; and desirable or not, it is not to be hoped for.
What if all were one? If it meant we were narrow it would be a tragedy. It would, however, be a source of peace until a division were necessary. But what if Kaworu is right? We are human because we are alone. Yet I am reminded that, lacking water, we make a religion revering thirst. Humanity without distinction, humanity without death, would not be human. But it doesn’t mean it should not be.
It doesn’t matter much. Such conceits are fiction. Be they a heaven or a hell, they are not of this world.
And it’s not as though what emerges will be any less myself than the cocoon of terror and pain I hope to slough off, nor the thing which was wrapped in it in March. If I become alien to myself, I nevertheless am me, and to despise that would be a tragedy.
