A Party for Scorpions

The Soul of the East

Why is it that sometimes life seems to be crawling, jerking and halting – as if it were a story correctly written in its syntax, but deprived of any deeper meaning? A story, therefore, that is not only boring, but also unconvincing. Is it because everything we know of this world is merely a “narrative” – a more or less convincing fairy tale for adults – intended to make our orientation easier and to ward off the nothingness? Meanwhile we hope for some ghostwriter to mend its style, returning everything to normal. Perhaps the metaphysical copywriter decides to allow the world a pinch of substance again, so the gods can roam it once more, angels can supervise the people, and fine beer can spring from mother earth’s bosom.

Alternatives invoke optimism, yet all things considered, it seems we are dealing with something at the same time less and more dramatic. Namely, people…

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