Birth at Midnight, Death by Dawn: Incandescent in a Rich Black Mist Called Night
I have found myself in a condition called “Weltschmerz” (a combination of German words for ‘World’ and ‘Pain’): a frustration caused by the difference between one’s ideals and reality.
My defeats and crises led me into the unsettled days of a life slipping quietly into the darkness of night. In time, I became obsessed with the aesthetics of that darkness: its eeriness; knowing no boundaries; its melancholy and seclusiveness.
I cast myself into an abyss where I found a peace - dark, yet soothing. Within it, I was reborn. My desires became clearer-sharper, more tangible and disturbingly, more easily within reach. It was a realm untouched by guilt or pride-only the raw, unfiltered sensation of existence. The scent of darkness, the overwhelming taste and tenderness of the dead of night- so sweet, so ecstatic. In that still, black cradle, willingly, I was reborn. Again. And again.
“The ship took us to the deep, outermost ocean and the land of the Cimmerians, a people shrouded in a mist. The sun never shines there, never climbs the starry night to beam down at them, nor bathes them in the glow of its last golden rays; their wretched sky is always racked with night’s gloom.”
Then by dawn, by its roseate light, I was defeated, again, stripped of that vitality of night.
