you never know to whom you’re talking.
bertolt brecht, the threepenny opera
[…]
in the end, perhaps we should simply imagine a joke; a lng joke that’s being continually retold in an accent too thick and too strange to ever be completly understood. life is that joke, my friends. the soul is its punch line.
[…]
explain this to me then, if labor day is a day set aside to honor the working stiff, you know, to honor honest toil, why then do people celebrate it by staying home and goofing off? i mean, if work is so noble and good for us, wouldnt you think we’d choose to honor it by working twice as long and hard on its special day?
it strikes me that if the way people celebrate work is by not working, then what they’re really celebrating is leisure. they’re admitting that they’d a whole lot rather be having fun day in and day out than have their nose to the fucking grindstone.
its like celebrating valentine’s day by acting hateful and sending rude notes to your loved ones.
[…]
in the west we have a desperate need for the certain, the expliquable, and the absolute. in fact, on e of our euphemisms for our lonely monogod is “the absolute”. ironically, perhaps, that happens to be an appropriate title. god is absolute. abolute mystery. absolute ambiguity. absolute uncertainty. ha ha.
[…]