Living in America: a Guide for the Perplexed Chapter 18
All my friends tell me, wait until you own a house. And get some kids. And I say, yeah, yeah. Sure. We all know that's what it's all about, right? Owning property is where it all started, installing a roof over the head, and when you stay in one place long enough you want to give it a name, to seperate it from everything else, to say it is your home. But the son of man has nowhere to lay his head. Are the people named after the land, or the land after the people? But the son of man has nowhere to lay his head. What do we call ourselves, we nomads who roam a promised land? But the son of man has nowhere to lay his head. Thus words that represented abitrary constructs, but the son of man has nowhere to lay his head, thus a language of meaningless constructs like near and far, but the son of man has nowhere to lay his head, thus a world where the rights of the many are dictated by the few by voodoo spells of words and words and words. Fixed, fixtured, ceased wandering, the calcification of thought began, but the son of man has nowhere to lay his head.
klik if you demand tedious explanations of every little thing.
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