Download.

I'm just going through my phone and desktop, clearing off all the old notes that don't fit anywhere in particular and don't amount to enough for a proper bit of writing. Hence the piece on Dante and exile just now. And hence, also, this little scrap I wrote a few months ago after my son fell and banged his head. Entirely my fault, as well. Proud father...

Our fear of death becomes so enormous and immovable we choose to regard it as proof of an afterlife, and thus a deity, the church, etc., when really it’s the cause, a loss of philosophical nerve masquerading as philosophy. But how say otherwise when you look at your kid, recently hurt, sleeping off the shock of his first ever fall in your arms. You tell him he’s the most beloved creature in the world, which he is, and that you’ll make sure he never suffers again, even though you know it’s a lie and he's not listening anyway.