...You, the drunken Zarathustra.
You said that there’s nothing wrong with expressing what one wants to express.
Let it flow, you said, No resentments.
When you said that, it was as if something inside her was freed. She was no longer afraid to recognize what she felt or how you felt or how he felt. She could not help but laugh at herself: how godlike of her to think that she could choose when, how, or for whom one feels. How godlike and retarded.
Yes, what is so wrong about expressing how one feels? Because in a world of boxes and lines and self-imposed prisons of the Reason, we deem that these feelings are wrong and should never be felt, should never be expressed. We become mute. We deceive ourselves. We pretend that we aren’t feeling what we feel. We do what is right. It is, after all, for the good to be as unfeeling as rational machines.
What was it that dear Anne said? “That’s how things slide into hell…Look straight at these feelings and deal with ‘em. Work it through, as honestly as you can…It’s what you do about what you feel that matters.”
And what will happen will happen, you said. And no matter what we do, what will happen will happen, as much as we order the universe and rage against the order of the universe. And what do you know? In your rage, the universe gives you the finger, and it’s something that makes you laugh: love.
What will happen will happen.
She loves you and you love her and she loves him and he loves her and surely you can all be friends who are really more than friends with a love that cannot be denied or defined or defied.
What happened, happened.
There, you expressed it.
The world makes sense again.
You’re breathing.
It’s all good…
Yadadayayada.
Hahahaha.
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