Tuesday, November 17, 2015

Forty-seven

I no longer live. I exist.

Existentialism is a symptom, not the cure for our disease. I can’t create a purpose for myself. I’m not a monopole. 

We used to know that we must live for something or someone outside ourselves. We used to know that subject and object arise together, because of each other. We’re devolving now, forgetting everything we used to know.

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