Thursday, April 24

Well. Life will destroy you. There's no getting around it. It's a concrete fact, a biological absolute. We're all Schrödinger's cat and the box is not going to open any time soon. So maybe I'm not asking if you can be undestroyed. Maybe I'm asking if you can love in the face of the failure of all love and the certainty of death and the fact of solitude and the magnitude of what you can't encompass, no matter how hard you try or how profoundly you stop trying, no matter if you're Allen Ginsberg or Jack Keroauc or Walt Whitman himself or I think even Christ lurking in the stone, Buddha sitting under the tree. And it would be conventional to believe the answer is yes, but all I can say is I don't know yet.