The Pessimist’s Beautitudes

I, a-man-just-like-thee, on this day no-one lays claim to, not in the spirit, and not on Patmos, having ruminated on the words of Solomon ibn David ibn Jesse, the lamenter of old, do agree with him of blessed memory, that beyond death, and above all there is, in addition to its joys and sorrows, that all of mans labour is in vain and vanity upon vanity. It is indeed better that man never was born. Therefor says I:

Blessed are the never-born, they neither experience joy nor sadness

Blessed are the dead, for sorrow is now alien to them

Blessed are the long-gone, the sands of time has wiped away their misdeeds

Blessed are they who have passed on, no harm can befall

Blessed are the truly fallen, never to rise again, therefore never to fall again

Blessed are the forgotten, because neither pain nor regret is remembered

Blessed are the shades, having no substance, are no longer bound to the earth

Blessed art thou, when thy time runs out, for only then art thou truly beyond the reach of the evil that men do

Blessed art thou when thy sojourn ends, it is the beginning of eternity.

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