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In the wasteland that is left of her desires and righteous aims, she can see now that there is no just violence. Violence merely is. It murders us the moment we bring it to consciousness.
Swans don’t really have a purpose. But I miss them the most. Maybe because of fairy tales.”
To be human. What if being human did not mean to discover, to conquer. What if it meant rejoining everything we are made from.
Language has no allegiance. No grand authority. We pose our authority arbitrarily upon it, but in the end, language is a free-floating system, like space junk or the sediments in oceans that eventually collect into rocks to form matter. What can be made can be unmade.
