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  • I read The Road and understood it on at least one level, language is what separates us from animals and as we lose clarity in language, as we detach ourselves from nature, our opportunity to form sacred bonds with society and individuals who comprise society, our chance to bear a certain humanity, is crippled.

    In the book a global pandemic has occurred but the narrator cannot annunciate exactly what happened. Whatever it is has led to wild packs roaming vacant cities, untrusting families hiding in cellars. Man attains such desperation he will rape woman and cannibalize her unborn fetus so apparently a very bad thing has occurred.

    The book, with its use of obsolete old english, 19th century backcountry vocabulary and invented words, is comprised of difficult sentences that together form a hazy, speculative, fearful, paranoid, and immoral reality. A looming metaphor for what Cormac, and myself, believe will happen as language and the ability to describe a natural reality shrinks (this could be from a combination of urbanization, environmental destruction, Orwellian newspeak or other factors which are TBD).

    The last sentence scared me into writing with precision, treating language as a singular entity which would separate me from the heinous, imbibing, cruel, intolerant, savage, masturbating, fucking, killing, torturing, craving, craven beast that man bears within him.

    The forlorn idiom, shorn of its referent, and therefore of all meaning. (paraphrased)

    And I realized I have been running around like a hipster with dirty American Apparel briefs on the toilet tank, and that like a chicken with its head cut off doesn't mean anything to me.

    I've never seen a chicken run around after being decapitated.

    Not even on YouTube.
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