There's a strange tenderness in the observance of people who live their lives like small children playing with an infinite thing; I marvel with them as they marvel at the world, and structure a tenacious existence in the midst of all that negates it. And yet, I often feel disconnected from their struggles. I know of no other way to live respectfully than to cling as madly and as loosely to life as possible; whatever personal, political or philosophical repercussions this state of mind might have are irrelevant in the greater scheme of things: life's provisional nature allows no claim on it to ever become legitimate.
J. Isadore âť 2021



















