Все, что нас не убивает, дает нам много нездоровых механизмов приспособления и больное чувство юмора.
дыбр
В этой связи не могу не вспомнить:
"A young boy heals his wounds as quickly as they form, jumping and pounding and hitting and soaring. He reaches skyward. The drift of the body disconnected from its earth gives the flutter of wings, not just on the back, but in the belly.
The moment between knowing you’re mortal and bound to the ground, and then dreaming you have awakened a great power to fly, like those hollowed-out rodents that clog our skies with feathers and fluids — it’s in that moment of knowing and unknowing, consciousness and bliss, that the boy sees all that can never be.
Upon his return to the flat hard truth, he sees things. Himself. Others, as they should be seen. As his equals.
He gives the jumping one more go, but the magic is gone. Another. Still none. One more, for old time’s sake. No. It will never be the same. Well, maybe. One more. Still another. He jumps and jumps and jumps! The jumping makes a sound, like thunder, like drums, like steps.
Soon he is old. The ups and the downs lack even the memory of the magic. They have replaced nostalgia with creaking, painful bones. He is old now.
Still jumping.
This has been financial news."
В этой связи не могу не вспомнить:
"A young boy heals his wounds as quickly as they form, jumping and pounding and hitting and soaring. He reaches skyward. The drift of the body disconnected from its earth gives the flutter of wings, not just on the back, but in the belly.
The moment between knowing you’re mortal and bound to the ground, and then dreaming you have awakened a great power to fly, like those hollowed-out rodents that clog our skies with feathers and fluids — it’s in that moment of knowing and unknowing, consciousness and bliss, that the boy sees all that can never be.
Upon his return to the flat hard truth, he sees things. Himself. Others, as they should be seen. As his equals.
He gives the jumping one more go, but the magic is gone. Another. Still none. One more, for old time’s sake. No. It will never be the same. Well, maybe. One more. Still another. He jumps and jumps and jumps! The jumping makes a sound, like thunder, like drums, like steps.
Soon he is old. The ups and the downs lack even the memory of the magic. They have replaced nostalgia with creaking, painful bones. He is old now.
Still jumping.
This has been financial news."