but to [rejoice] in splendour

At one point hours after coughing awake into a stagnant reality, he realized he was working. "I'm sick," he finally admitted, "I'm working on Saturday in the month when winter ends and spring bemoans, in limbo of stale air and scorched grass, in a world that isn’t the stuff of my dreams." The weight of this admission hit him hard; he could only believe that people at this moment were becoming conscious in the arms of their conservative partners, dashing their own dreams for a chance of security. "Sometimes, if only could just not think much, would anyone even notice?" dp

I'm looking at the world - all fake. We grow only to lose our curiosity, our sense of equality, and our sense of fairness - a few of the qualities that makes us human; we exchange for a life of blandness and unoriginality. We're Zombies of corporations, zombies of society, zombies of our own fear.  Why should we ever grow?

Here's a connection/thought for the morning... Is the voice communications an anomaly between writing letters for generations of humankind and writing emails and txts? What I mean is that it seems humans have been writing letters to communicate for all of human life until telephons came into existence a 100 or so years ago. The telephone history is so short compared to writing that even now, it seems outdated where the young generation (us included) prefer to text instead of pick up the phone and call most people. While the structure of texting and email is far different from writing long letters, the means is the same where writing seems to trump our voices? I find that I prefer writing only because I find that my thoughts are better communicated by writing than by voice. This thought also parallels my though on how audio cassettes were an anomaly between vinyl and CDs (both round, both being read in a circular fashion from edge to the inner circle). ---- Here's the article ...

One day I'm a monkey in a shepard's clothing and another day I'm a chimp in sheep's clothing.