I know of no thought so burdensome one cannot walk away from it
Søren Kierkagaard, letter to Jetta
I have good days
this isn’t one of them
One has to steel oneself
against melancholy and ruin
Mahler, yes, Weltschmerz, majesty
Still the minor key
Guarding our positions
A system we did not choose
There’s work of course
As if it were ever possible
to do one’s real work
I have to steal my time.
If not work, walk
“If one just keeps on walking
everything will be all right.”
The walk-strife balance
Still the homeless crouch
It beggars belief how cruel
we have to be for capitalism to work
How we must steal past the beggars
steel ourselves with stories
the good, the idle poor
steel our hearts away