white: it's contrary to the human condition"
somewhere in the ghettos of new york cities is an apartment rather small and low classed, sits around a table a rural folky black man and a well educated white professor, conversing back and forth some of life's ultimate questions, pulling each other backward and forward into the others firmly engrossed belief.
this play (or novel in a dramatic form as the critiques like to say) was deeply moving chiefly for the reason:
it seemed like an internal monologe.
the monologe we all get when questioning the world, questioning the purpose of existence, questioning the actual possibility of genuin happiness or if it is merely built on how many illusions you could rap your self with.
while: a professor of darkness, finds himself in desire of death, of end, and peace and quite and apocalypse to all things as disgusting and pointless as dreams and hopes.
black: a folksy seemingly simpleton who has found Jesus in the very roughness of prison violence.
and so on their dialoge goes n to represent universal thoughts in the most poetic of language and word formation.
Cormac Mcarthy as always, keeps me intrigued and gives me literature that always leaves me displaced.
"if people saw the world for what it truly is. saw their lives for what they truly are. without dreams or illusions. I dont believe they could offer the first reason why they should not elect to die as soon as possible."
