Honor and love – what else – defy the usurpation of meaning by the Story of capitalism, because they require the notion of “enough”


Love is a prison of the heart
Says the infatuated:
You are my prison guard


we observe the armistice
between our shadows
we live in a world
of small things


Gentle lady, do not sing
Sad songs about the end of love;
Lay aside sadness and sing,
How love that passes is enough.

Sing about the long deep sleep
Of lovers that are dead and how
In the grave all love shall sleep
Love is aweary now

– James Joyce



, in which we are not immortal
but our identities dissolve in-
to one another and we are only
a little bit afraid to call it love


“Among those whom I like or admire, I can find no common denominator, but among those whom I love, I can: All of them make me laugh.” — W.H. Auden

The good life