Never quite embraced the 'absurd' insight, because the philosophers put so much onus on reality when so much of life is make-believe.
They think the reality undermines the make-believe, and at pressure points it does, but weighted against the bulk of life it is fleeting.
We make-believe more than we let on. That what we point to as farce is but a small portion of the carnival we are in daily.
Like overemphasizing the hazards of playing a sport not realizing part of the pleasure you get is from the risk involved.
Life would not be worth living without stakes. As Camus points out, the light is not light without the shadows.
The absurd swallows the rationalist and makers of plans. For the romantic, it fuels the pageantry.
Fake blood no longer necessary. When they scream fire in the playhouse one sighs to be alive.
Suffering is an aesthetic experience. The event horizon of being and make-believe blur reality: theatre & biology combined.
The exalted pain is no less painful but eventually gets transfigured into a story, an anecdote, a war wound.
Make-believe is the natural order, not reality. To call our lives absurd is to define us by the outside; we live inside.
They think the reality undermines the make-believe, and at pressure points it does, but weighted against the bulk of life it is fleeting.
We make-believe more than we let on. That what we point to as farce is but a small portion of the carnival we are in daily.
Like overemphasizing the hazards of playing a sport not realizing part of the pleasure you get is from the risk involved.
Life would not be worth living without stakes. As Camus points out, the light is not light without the shadows.
The absurd swallows the rationalist and makers of plans. For the romantic, it fuels the pageantry.
Fake blood no longer necessary. When they scream fire in the playhouse one sighs to be alive.
Suffering is an aesthetic experience. The event horizon of being and make-believe blur reality: theatre & biology combined.
The exalted pain is no less painful but eventually gets transfigured into a story, an anecdote, a war wound.
Make-believe is the natural order, not reality. To call our lives absurd is to define us by the outside; we live inside.
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