This song makes me feel the euphoria, though its clip makes me sense the, ah, embarrassment.
This poem, a pointed STOP to cynicism and revulsion and despair, makes me feel the euphoria.
This essay, the one on my screen and, increasingly, in my waking nightmare, makes me sense the pain.
Some of it has been placed here,
“The theory that the court system too needs surveillance is consistent with the purpose of the press to protect transparency. Mill suggests exactly this (Mill, p122, 1976.) His greatest happiness principle sacrifices the interest of minority stakeholders like, say, the plaintiff (Hartigan, 2012) to the promotion of transparency and even connectedness…etc, etc, etc, suicide.
So, in closing, you too should sense the tarab. “Tarab” means ecstasy, or euphoria… in Arabic. You may wonder why one might throw in a different language at this stage in the post, but that’s hardly important here, so get over it.
Try to have some empty, excessive happy times.
(Meanwhile, triple murder-suicide essay case coming to a news-stand near you)