Even now, I still believe metamorphosis is the greatest beauty.
As if each of us might somehow have a blueprint. As if somewhere there’s the shape of my life, and I had the chance to choose a few variations, but not far from the pattern.
What would the world be like if men never ruled again?
A change in those moments, some switch turned off forever, the end of trust or safety or love, and how do we ever find the switch again?
Maybe this is as near as we can come to forgiveness. Not the past wiped away, nothing undone, but some willingness in the present, some recognition and embrace and slowing down.
And only men could have invented the idea of a king.
Each one a little bit different but following some blueprint somewhere. As if each of us might have a blueprint. As if somewhere there’s the shape of my life, and I had the chance to choose a few variations, but not far from the pattern.
What myth can hold when you kneel in your brother’s remains? When you slit his throat yourself? What story can guide us if we can betray all?
The worst part of childhood is not knowing that bad things pass, that time passes. A terrible moment in childhood hovers with s kind of eternity, unbearable.
We live through evolution ourselves, each of us, progressing through different apprehensions of the world, at each age forgetting the last age, every previous mind erased. We no longer see the same world at all.
This is what I’ve always loved about a city, all the worlds hidden away inside, largest of aquariums.