stunt

I fear that I have grown even tired of learning. The statement, while to a degree speculative, is no less painful to write, both because of the possibility of realizing the thing feared, as well, and because of the fear itself; the former connotes a stagnation repulsive to human nature, the latter a concession to a world which forces one to find purpose and direction be fore capital and the capacity to build it runs dry. Words have power, after all: to name something is to give it life, for better or for worse.

There is the temptation, of course, to fall into subjectivity; that there is learning even in the inanities of existence, that the arc of the moral universe bends towards justice. But if everyone receives what is due, what, then, is due the one who stops flourishing, pursuit of eudaimonia all but faded from the eyes?