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There is a radical undecidability between life and death. ‘If you don't kill me, you will kill me,’ said Kafka to his physician.
The existence of the world is justified only as an aesthetic phenomenon. (There is) only an artistic meaning and crypto-meaning behind all events — a ‘god’, if you please, but certainly only an entirely reckless and amoral artist-god who wants to experience, whether he is building or destroying, in the good and the bad, his own joy and glory - one who, creating worlds, frees himself from the distress of fullness and overfullness and from the affliction of the contradictions compressed in his soul.
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