"Call it justice," Armand says. "Call it gardening."
He had said he likes their conversations. He had meant: that bright, clarifying thing he feels, rubbed raw by the right questions, the shock of revelation. He had also meant: sharp words, testing each other, little moments throughout the interview where Louis, sitting at an angle from him or close to him or across the other side of the room had nearly become ornamental to a wider game while he unspooled his life story.
But isn't it nice, too, to talk philosophy, mixed philosophy, without a recording device nearby. They have more time to do the same thing they were doing before, a kind of mutual figuring out.
"Our way of life is currently only addressed by a set of laws upheld by covens of middling power to enforce them, and none of those laws specify how we go about our selections. There is no legislation dictated by human courts that allow it, is cognizant to it, but perhaps that will change, but let us remain in the present. Even human morality, whether expressed through ancient scripture or afternoon television programming for children cannot abide by a way of life in which the baseline to survival is murder."
Talk of eating only animals, imbibing only from the willing. Louis, a master of his impulses, clinging to these things as if he isn't awaiting the inevitable plummet. Armand won't be there to catch him.
"So." So. "Who can you prescribe your own judgment to, if not yourself?"
no subject
He had said he likes their conversations. He had meant: that bright, clarifying thing he feels, rubbed raw by the right questions, the shock of revelation. He had also meant: sharp words, testing each other, little moments throughout the interview where Louis, sitting at an angle from him or close to him or across the other side of the room had nearly become ornamental to a wider game while he unspooled his life story.
But isn't it nice, too, to talk philosophy, mixed philosophy, without a recording device nearby. They have more time to do the same thing they were doing before, a kind of mutual figuring out.
"Our way of life is currently only addressed by a set of laws upheld by covens of middling power to enforce them, and none of those laws specify how we go about our selections. There is no legislation dictated by human courts that allow it, is cognizant to it, but perhaps that will change, but let us remain in the present. Even human morality, whether expressed through ancient scripture or afternoon television programming for children cannot abide by a way of life in which the baseline to survival is murder."
Talk of eating only animals, imbibing only from the willing. Louis, a master of his impulses, clinging to these things as if he isn't awaiting the inevitable plummet. Armand won't be there to catch him.
"So." So. "Who can you prescribe your own judgment to, if not yourself?"