A simple poem I wrote, designed to reveal (perhaps a little more accurately than colloquial understanding) the thought behind Nietzsche's infamous "God is dead" in The Gay Science:
It was a private event.
It had to be; otherwise the masses would pry open the empty coffin.
You can't bury a word.
Maybe you can bury the thing toward which it points?
I don't think you'd be able to make an infinitely large coffin.
Godknows where you'd bury it.
I thought this would be an apt beginning for this blog. Something a little more expansive coming soon.
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