Tuesday, October 20, 2009

Nothing is Pure

For the average Modernist twenty-year-old a new beginning is likely an exciting venture, a new beginning, in fact, and an opening into the unknown. For one twice that age, a new beginning is just a repeat of the old, a new begining of a new old. Newness is old. There is nothing new under the sun. All is vanity.

Hey, little sister, nothing is pure.


But there is witness to the repeat. There is the blood-crystal vision of the same this time round and times to come and times to go and to return eternally. But nothing is pure. One might hope for a memory of a nice day for a white wedding. But not for nothing pure.

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