This is an era of finite progress; of exorcisms and green living; of prolonging despair and unsatisfactory addictions; of particular description and neglectful specificity; of self-dedication and virtual conspiracy; of providential fads and introverted fear; of over-mystification and peopled monarchy; of jaded experience and fabled aristocracy.
We are prohibited and exempted. We are disenchanted and provided for. We are mindless yet swarm to exhibits celebrating individuality.
What endures in humanity, if not the progressive ideals of man and his abhoration of expectation? So slimy the bowing head; so rigid the bending back. What dream can hold water and be deferred?
“Childhood’s over the moment you know you’re going to die.” Our own fear of mortality baits us. We are the guilty and the experienced. We are no longer innocence and sweetness and light.
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