We’re scared. We’re on edge, unable to concentrate. We can’t find focus. Our minds flit and float around flealike from one update to the next. We follow the news, because we feel we should. And then we wish we hadn’t, because it’s terrifying and sad. Daytime naps seem involuntary and fitful. Sleep will often not descend. But when it does, we sometimes wake, in a mortal panic, with hypochondriac symptoms we feel to be real but we know are not; and then we feel selfishly stupid for having them in the first place. We take our temperature. We wait. We take it again. It goes on. Feelings of powerlessness and ennui slide into impotent rage at what is being done and, most of all, what is not being done, or is being done poorly, irresponsibly, dishonestly.
We should develop I think a much more terrifying new abstract materialism, kind of a mathematical universe where there is nothing, there are just formulas, technical forms and so on, and the difficult thing is to find poetry, spirituality in this dimension. To recreate if not beauty then aesthetic dimension in things like this -in trash itself- that's the true love of the world. Because, what is love? Love is not idealization. Every true lover knows that if you really love a woman or a man, that you don't idealize him or her. Love means that you accept a person with all its failures, stupidities, ugly points... and nontheless the person's absolute for you, anything that makes life worth living. But you see perfection in imperfection itself. And that's how we should learn to love the world. True ecologists love all this.
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