When I vent my frustration on the futility and nihilism of modern life to my dad he reminds me his job was to drop nukes and still dreams it
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My father comforts me saying "look at me son, I too faced the dragon, and lo! I have defeated it" it gives me some comfort.
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But dad, I really hate to say it, but I don't think we can slay this dragon. I don't think I'll be able to say the same to my son.
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We've all been consumed. We're all living in the belly of the dragon. And I suppose the only way out is through.
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we are faced with the prospect not of sudden fiery annihilation, but the indignity of a quiet death that will span generations
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The world ends, not with a bang, But a whimper.
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in the instant before nuclear sublimation, man may face that which will consume him. horrible as it may be, it is a moment of naked equality
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to be denied the absolution of this final audience with one's fate is its own horror. to be lonely and unacknowledged at the end.
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I imagine this is how Keats felt when he died.
End of conversation
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