- it is our curse to yearn for a marking of history simply through our love, unfettered by happiness, pure in its intent of itself, art, war, human, beast, all love; we fail, time and time again, we do not make anything, we are worse than philosophers, and like them we have never known how to live, and unlike them we have not even learned how to speak clearly of this affliction, culture consumes our efforts as we call to a new species, to an other whom we long to manifest like magic, and we feel ourselves weak and dying, cynical in thought, naive in survival, the only chance we have is the world, so we destroy it day by day, and it offers itself over and over with a face more dire, our own reflection -