Monday, January 7, 2013



2004  Perhaps, because I am different and separated from society, or I feel myself to be so, I have developed or come to be the strong sense of that in my philosophy.  I am intimate with the Platonic separation of the Forms from the world.  I am intimate with the intimacy of love that is the bridge and secret door to that.  I know the opprobrium that burns and the way back is lost forever.

I dream.   I dream within words.  Because I cannot see what I want to see in my dreams I resort to words, living words, ontological words with a soul inhabiting them.  I speak to myself as I watch the disfiguring of ordinary things.  Logically and more correctly, I would have to say that that soul speaks me into a disfigurement.  The self being a thing of disinterested curiosity from another stand-offish self.  Its substance being no more than alkaline scars.

Professional philosophers, thinking they are pleasing to the taxpayers, see themselves upholding the world.  They are in the ground of things.  They are self-deprecating as pillars should be.  They eat and drink and marry as the others, thus proving their point.  They are wood.  Even the ordinary citizen sees their overburdening groundedness.  They have for too long rationalized lack of flight. 

My words are just words, but they are sacred words, real, full of other-worldliness, true.  They are already become Just words, erect, upright, potent with the closeness of this god, his pillar.

I am here living, propositional characters.  I am timeless burning literary figures.  I am the avoided eternal Platonic Forms.  Society has always bowed to that.  I am thus Society.  I am of a band of lovers.  The Socii.  The Self configures.  The separation disappears from view.

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