But still. Still bless me anyway. I want more life. I can’t help myself. I do. I’ve lived through such terrible times and there are people who live through much worse. But you see them living anyway. When they’re more spirit than body, more sores than skin, when they’re burned and in agony, when flies lay eggs in the corners of the eyes of their children - they live. Death usually has to take life away. I don’t know if that’s just the animal. I don’t know if it’s not braver to die, but I recognize the habit; the addiction to being alive. So we live past hope. If I can find hope anywhere, that’s it, that’s the best I can do. It’s so much not enough. It’s so inadequate. But still bless me anyway. I want more life.
wait so the best thing of all time this really shitty theater professor at my school (who is like, totally revered but shouldn’t be because he’s a hack) came up to my other professor who is a genius and doesn’t work in theater but knows so much more and my other prof who is this amazing modernist lit prof who everyone hates but they shouldn’t because he is AMAZING— anyways hack theater prof runs up and says “YOU HAVE TO SEE THIS NEW PLAY! IT’S CALLED ANGELS IN AMERICA! IT’S THE GAY ILLIAD OF OUR AGE!”
my two profs reply, IN UNISON: “the illiad is the gay illiad of our age”