what is my role? it seems like a judgement or a challenge. it's only a question. if it's simply a question, it's a good one. r. asked it. i ask myself. i've talked about the struggle. i've kept to myself. do i have a role? i can be a caretaker. i may do that alright. i may be too self-absorbed. i may be too sad, thinking about the lack of care everywhere to care for what i have here.
reading on extinction about how nostalgia relates to extinction i see how i felt long ago, the vague specific feeling, nostalgia for the present, that rises from the deep feeling of specific loss, of physical loss, death, of the presence of ghosts, an absent presence, of divorce, of being torn asunder with no visible signs, of extinction unrecorded. i may have no role in the species or the society, i'm just an anarchist of the heart, and i just want to be left alone, but i feel solidarity with the suffering of the animals of the world. in a world made human, which feels so unfeeling, maybe my role is simply to feel.