I can promise you none of these things. no sphere of usefulness; you are not needed there at all. no scope of your talents; only forgiveness for having perverted them. no atmosphere of inquiry, for i will bring you to the land not of questions but of answers, and you shall see the face of god. (pg 40)
Though there was no sound, there was a change. the atmosphere, which had gone tense at my accusation, relaxed. i wondered how i knew this. i had a strange sensation that i was somehow receiving more than my five senses were giving me - almost a feeling that there was another sense, on the fringes, not quite harnessed. intuition? that was almost the right word. as if any creature needed more than five senses.
I rarely use the internet for research, as i find the process cumbersome and detestable. The information gained is often untrustworthy and couched in execrable prose. It is unpleasant to sit in front of a twitching screen suffering assault by virus, power outage, sluggish searches, system crashes and the lack of direct human discourse.
Nothing seems to me to be rarer today then genuine hypocrisy. i greatly suspect that this plant finds the mild atmosphere of our culture unendurable. hypocrisy has its place in the ages of strong belief: in which even when one is compelled to exhibit a different belief one does not abandon the belief one already has.
Through this atmosphere of torrid splendor moved wan beings as richly upholstered as the furniture, beings without definite pursuits or permanent relations, who drifted on a languid tide of curiosity... Somewhere behind them, in the background of their lives there was doubtless a real past, yet they had no more real existence than the poet's shades in limbo.