Posted, by necessity and utility, from the 1 device referenced, in treatise after treatise in my work. Connection, then, cannot be underestimated, even if it faces a wall of apathy and tension that threatens to void one’s sentience.
I find that as days settle into an off-beat rhthym, that as I begin to finally set down roots, the call of purpose and a metaphysical transcendence is stronger than ever before. Working, slaving, toiling industriously, heads bowed, but nothing will leash nor cage this mind, on the verge of a weak apotheosis. There is no measurement (assessment, a certain determination) of this fierce energy, now available in 2 diabolical flavours, but it drives me up the wall.
But let me start; there will be consilience, literally and otherwise, and I travel once again to Paris in November to dream up the überparent’s recipe for certain constitutional (again, the nebulous pun) growth and depth. There, wiser and quietened, amidst the now-familar streets, the coffee-saturated streets and lonely, convalscent bookshops will saturate this pastel life. When I was there last year, there were readings, Rorty, bespoke magazines, monumental piles, and not enough time for the thimbles of coffee and carafes of wine. But, I go, dreaming of.
Nothing is explained, of course, not on this evanescent keyboard. I eke a living out of my minds, imprisoned by my hunger and coruscant misanthropy. Kierkegaard had it easy, if somewhat dramatic; the caricature of choice, belief, faith. How shall I live? The echo reminds me, for I drone sonorously when I forget to think.
Then I call time. Here, one final look. Each day, moments salvaged and thoughts coalesced; lessons distanced and made palatable, ideas and threads finally emerging from the haze. Did you see me, did you see the lines in the sand?