Sturm und Drang

I woke in the dark this morning to warm rain.  The day holds no promise.  I will walk in the gloomy dawn hoping. . . .  It is better, this sympathetic fallacy, than the other.

"The Sorrows of Young Werther."  Sturm und Drang.  I must quit this moaning like a child wanting attention. I am not young.  "The Sorrows of Old Werther."  The emotional difference is profound.  Old Werther should give them life only as abstractions.  Extreme beauty and overwhelming despair regarded from a protected distance.

I read yesterday that two Pulitzer Prize winning journalists are proposing that Vincent Van Gogh did not commit suicide but was murdered by a group of young rascals instead.  Changes everything.