Human Letters
Black Holes and Professors
Human Letters
My friend the professor of human letters says he often finds death a comfort. He is a wise and humane friend. As for myself, I find life a comfort amidst the grand inhuman sublimities one often reads in ancient doom-scrolls. For example, they say Jonah was eaten by a fish, or a whale, or his pride depending on who’s asking. And yesterday I was reading about a new, supermassive hole that has been collapsing all this time falling, while I was making tea into itself, and while you are reading these words, falling, grasping all light and when I die, it will be falling for you, in love, or a dirty old trick like hope, I hope, though never sure— only I must cut this discourse on method short, as now I hear the kettle boiling which is, as I say, a kind of comfort. -




What a beautiful, beautiful poem
Ah yes let it be hope!