We know the pain.
We wallow in the sadness.
The poets and painters, they are our light in a dangerous and depressed world.
For real. If it weren’t for the James Baldwins and Louise Erdriches; or the stories of sadness or narratives love triumphing over oppression, all of the pain, all the sadness--all of it--would overwhelm.
We need to find a way to John Keats who found beauty in the paradox. Or maybe Jean Toomer who told us pain and beauty were not oppositional but dependent on one another.
