All this sanity is killing some of us. To my mind, it is killing the best of us. It drives the artist and the philosopher, dancer, the psychiatrist, the homosexual torch singer and the spiritualist dishwasher toward the cliff with its macabre drone. Most of the genuinely beautiful minds and souls I know are in the deepest sort of despair. Rather like the cabaret society of 1930s Berlin, you can hear the high whine of hysteria behind their drunken revelry, their bitter laughter in the face of such black folly. Some people I know do not even bother to get out of bed on weekends.
Friday, May 20, 2005
Joe Bageant Earns His Keep
Joe sums it up for me. I'm not one of those people he talks about who stay in bed all weekend, quaking in fear, but maybe that's just because I'm just a little more blithe than I should be: