The Chain

Life is a cascade of nows falling on top of one another without meaning or purpose. Of all the philosophers, only Schopenhauer ever got that right.

Interstate 95 at midnight. America’s spinal cord, splicing lifelines and destinies and unrelated narratives.

only a flop to crash in and get mail.

Trust no one, least of all me. Recall that one builds a labyrinth not to hide but to lie in wait.”

There is some wisdom to be had in taking the gloomy view and looking upon the world as a kind of hell. Arthur Schopenhauer, Parerga and Paralipomena, 1851

From up here, you can see the whole Inn River system stretching to the west. The sickly green alluvial plain is vast, fetid, and unholy, as if it’s covering up a lost corsair city waiting to be exhumed from its own sewers.

It is the umbilical link between mother and child, the way or path that the hero must travel in a quest, and it is the thin clew of crimson thread that is the solution Ariadne comes up with to the problem of the labyrinth.

The number of people involved grows almost exponentially, and no conspiracy can survive exponential growth. It’s a typical stochastic fast-slow system and when the breaking point comes, it will break spectacularly.

Camus said, “In the depths of winter, I finally learned that within me there lay an invincible summer.” What bullshit.