Confluence. Or. This Is Pretty Much the Exact Opposite of My Experience.

…outside he could see people passing by. He could see out, but they couldn’t see in. Many of them were carrying large packages on their backs, and they were wearied and weighed down by them.

While he was watching, he gradually became aware of a weight on his own back. And then it dawned on him; he was carrying a package as well.

He became aware of a distant noise…a persistent knocking. he tried to ignore it, but it forced itself on him. he went to open the door, and then suddenly became scared.

He opened the door, and there was Estiva…“What have you come for?” he asked her. Her eyes were so lovely and peaceful. “I’ve come to take this,” she said, and suddenly she was holding the package, and he was feeling refreshed and strong. “Does it belong to you?” he asked. “Not really, but I’m happy to take it for you.”

Mike Riddell, while on my first smoke break of the day.

The thing is, there is no human signifier who will show up without their own stuff. And the thing is, we’re almost all trying to put our stuff on someone else. The result is often violent. That’s what this little French sentence I’m keeping close is about.

preserving a comment made a little while ago:

…love, by its very definition, lies beyond language. Any attempts at words that define love fail in direct proportion to their resolution.

…All this to say–love as existing entirely outside of emotion or love without a specific human signifier? Neither of those paradigms appeal to me very much. And to dismiss “the people on TV” is to dismiss most of society, including myself, who desire for that human signifier who will not eradicate the radical lack, but perhaps occupy it with us.