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“On Hope God forbid I talk about hope, it's so cliché. Not that it doesn't exist, but it has become just that. In a world of ready-made things, any effort is banal. It must be delivered in liquid form, Bauman and his diabolical lack of concreteness, Liquid hope? No, a lack of concrete hope. Does it sound too romantic? Maybe it does, and also, resonates. Isn't resonating in souls the desire of every poet, every writer, every thinker? Is it only possible to resonate with that which is empty, empty of itself? Could it be that poets are nothing more than empty completions, resonating with one another? In fact, perhaps that’s what it is.” — modernity, Weariness, Simulation, Fragmentation, Emptiness
On Hope
God forbid I talk about hope, it's so cliché.
Not that it doesn't exist, but it has become just that.
In a world of ready-made things, any effort is banal.
It must be delivered in liquid form,
Bauman and his diabolical lack of concreteness,
Liquid hope?
No, a lack of concrete hope.
Does it sound too romantic?
Maybe it does, and also,
resonates.
Isn't resonating in souls the desire of every poet,
every writer,
every thinker?
Is it only possible to resonate with that which is empty,
empty of itself?
Could it be that poets are nothing more
than empty completions,
resonating with one another?
In fact, perhaps that’s what it is.