The Alternative to Hope

Vanitas still life with a self-portrait, by David Bailly

The alternative to hope is the acceptance of death, the acceptance that things can’t really change, that we already live in the best of all possible worlds, that real democracy doesn’t exist, shouldn’t exist, but is better as a constantly eroding shell, held up as though it were the whole and worshipped as piece after piece falls off — isn’t democracy beautiful and perfect? Don’t you wish you were dead too so your dried up shriveled remains could more closely resemble the objects of our worship? Don’t you wish you were dead too so they could toss your little corpse into the impenetrable cavern of their delusions? Look, there lies the nation and the well-educated informed voter, the responsible and responsive policymaker and justice and freedom and the free market and reason. How they shine when I aim my light at them! And how they meld in with everything else in the dreary damp darkness when I turn my light off again.

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2 comentários sobre “The Alternative to Hope

  1. Why is accepting death the absence of hope? Isn’t the opposite true? If you deny death, you’re it’s slave. Once you accept that death is as incontrovertible as life, you can truly live because you are free of the falsehoods people spin to avoid the truth. Yes, someday I will die, but today, no. Today I will live and I will take what is mine. I may be a spineless jellyfish, but I have life and I’m going to take up space while I am. Forgotten I may be when I’m dead, but while I exist there is no stopping me.

    Sorry, what were you saying?

    Curtir

    1. What you’re talking about is not freedom to live but the true enslavement to death. The strength you derive from it is the strength of being the one to constantly shout, “Death is coming! Death is coming! What you’re doing means nothing. Death is coming!”

      Nothing will stop you because nothing really matters. It’s the freedom of emptiness. I can live here or there, North or South, no matter, it will all be wiped away in the end.

      If you ever gave any meaning to your life whatsoever, then you must have rebelled against death at some point. In the ontological jump between accepting death and doing anything more than taking up space, let alone taking what is “yours” is an act of rebellion whether you see it or not.

      Curtir

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