Category: Philosophy
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On Brownie Mix
A letter on will, thought, and neuroticism. S.R., “Chips, or chunks?” I thought to myself, as I stood, catatonic, in the baking aisle. The seconds loitered, then fell away, as did the minutes that followed, and, thereafter, the hours–and, before I knew it, several days had passed. The sun rose, and fell. I grew older,…
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On Multiplicity and the Good
A vignette on fragility. S.R., “I live in trepidation of the fragility of all things.” If you had said this to me, I would scoff, and roll my eyes, and perhaps respond, “And if they should befall him–the loss of power and the ruin of his cities–why should he believe that to be some great…
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On Bibliomancy
On divination and consolation. S.R., I threw myself down on the sky-blue subway seat, and stared out the long rectangular window into the damp void of the station. I had just finished a long saunter into and out of that summer night, and was now alone in that train car near Columbus Circle. And that…
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On Apples, Figs, and Cabbage
On delayed pleasure and investing in oneself. S.R., You would fail to notice the changes day-by-day. Only, perhaps, if you had compiled a series of snapshots would you be able to see their subtle motions as they occur. The xylem draws water from the roots up through the stem and to leaves; sunlight falls on…
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A Lyre and a Player, too
On mimesis, creativity, and the dichotomy of the arts. S.R., I’ve told you before, I’m sure, of my surprise at having fallen in with a crowd of classically-trained musicians. And how strange and impostrous I feel, given that I’m not one myself. Nor do I have an ounce of culture or of education in that…
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On Intuition and Anamnesis
On epistemology and ethical inquiry. S.R., I’ve told you, before, of my music problem. And it has reached such a height of moral turpitude that today I surreptitiously went down into the viscera of the city to buy an instrument secondhand. But while making my way through the cobbled streets I found myself at leisure,…
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On Mind and Matter
A letter on philosophy of mind, the problem of consciousness, and the mental-physical divide. S.R., It was at about the tender age of seventeen that I was taken in by him. That I had found a sort of companionship in a man whom I had never met, yet who lived so close, and whose life…
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That Soup and Burger is Hell
On Stoic metaphysics, old haunts, and purpose. S.R., “Soup and Burger is Hell. And we cannot escape.” J. quipped, recently. Soup and Burger (henceforth S&B), is, of course, a diner not far south of Union Square, and has long been the site of a weekly ritual of dinner, and conversation, and even before the onset…
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On the Poet and the Philosopher
A letter on ethics, creativity, and a divided life. S.R., I have written elsewhere as to the different methodologies employed in the subjects of poetry and philosophy. It was there, latent, that my purpose lie, and only here do I reveal my serious intentions, and my impetus for writing. My concern as to what poetry…
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On Introspection
On knowledge and knowing oneself. S.R., I have always felt opaque to myself. And upon returning to that question I am in no better a position to answer after long pondering than I was before I had began, for it seems, to me, anyway, a most disagreeable endeavor, to somehow step outside of myself and…
