I read some Nietzsche by the pool today because the day was hot and bright and every breeze was cool. I couldn’t say I read a lot, the atmosphere was much too nice and whether Nietzsche would approve I raised my eyelids more than twice to watch a female body move with thoroughbred or feline grace across the decking toward a chair beneath “the breath of empty space” to stretch out in the blue of air. But reading on I came across that famous sentence: “God is dead.” Experiencing no sense of loss, I felt exuberance instead imagining the headlines, bold and stunning, on the magazines (How many copies had been sold and some still wonder what it means?) Observed another animal and lost myself in Nietzsche’s herds, but understood that, after all, he had a madman say the words that made the faithful bend their knees to pray in hope that faith was strong enough and all philosophies other than their own were wrong. But nothing mattered anyway, the graceful bodies under blue, or what a madman had to say, because not one of them was you. by Michael Harmon |
Archived Issues > Volume 8 Issue 2 >