What hides under the spectacular oppositions is a unity of misery.
I wake up in the middle of the night in a sweat. I am gripped by the knowledge that I have nothing to say— That even if I could write a pamphlet everyone in the world would see, I would fail.
…the spectacle is nothing more than an image of happy unification surrounded by desolation and fear at the tranquil center of misery.
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