Hand in hand in a violent life
Making love on the edge of a knife
And the world comes tumbling down
I'm in a JMC kinda' mood. Sometimes it just seems really clear how we willfully engage and seek out an ecstatic sort of suffering. When we are most alive we are closest to death. Nowhere is this more evident than in Love, which can be said to be the most primordial and definitive of all "conditions". The reconciliation and alienation with the Other is a continuously oscillating ingression into the insanity of our human telos...our intuitive grasp for purpose. The life force is beyond our ability to fully master, like a God that if seen in all it's naked glory would immolate the observer. Nevertheless, mortality is a type of immanence, especially if this suffering can be made redemptive, fully claimed and owned by the individuated self. This is the only real purpose of art.