When Nietzsche Wept
I feel like I’ve never looked so long and hard at that abyss of nothingness.
I feel like I’ve never looked so long and hard at that abyss of nothingness.
The Zorg arrived in Jamaica with less than half of the Africans that it had set sail with still alive. Their prize for survival was the island’s sugar plantations, where newly arrived slaves had an average lifespan of three years.
When I do a movie night at a friend’s house, I never show up without anything less than four DVDs on hand.
I saw somebody die once.
This post was not published in December because I was unable to stay ahead.
Writing makes me feel alive. It’s the strong current beneath the ice, calm and powerful, a kind of steady thunder.
What a strange feeling, to re-remember. How has this recollection been altered by time? What other pieces of it have I forgotten?
Frankly, the idea of giving a team of strangers editing control over my inevitable mistakes and embarrassing moments before broadcasting them on a national stage is terrifying.
Spice means flavor. It means sensation. It means reaction.
It feels wrong to type into the chat box, “please add more hopeful language into this article.”