Collective: The Sad, Lonely Life of a Word
Several strands of thought come together, collect themselves, flash. I see beyond and outside them. I know it’s too obvious. The fight. The human desire to undercut. The unconscious desire to blow up — oneself, contrary to conscious goals, even “will.” Nietzsche’s will and more, and not. Not his interpretation of that, necessarily, nor Schopenhauer’s. But mine and, I suspect, millions of others. What am I talking about? The mass production of subverting and sabotaging oneself, multiplied. It’s no wonder…