The Muse has returned.
You are a shameless pagan.
"You are who you think you ain't."
Aphrodite: Tell me about Godel’s Incompleteness Theorems.
A Chicago Police Officer stands
You read, think, and write. The sky remains blue and the air temperate as it has each day for many weeks. You know these are the best days of your life even though you live them almost entirely alone. You’ve always lived a silent life alone in your idiosyncratic way. You don’t mind.
The President sat alone in the Oval Office. He’d been reading some routine reports, Congressional Bills, and most importantly the latest poll numbers.
They went out drinking together. They’d done that before. The result of the their latest adventure was the same. They slept together.
Lance drives across Iowa at the end of July. Laura, his friend, sits in the passenger seat beside him. She waxes rhapsodically about the lush green countryside filled with corn and bean fields and prosaic farm houses and barns.
The Republican Party holds the high ground when it comes to communicating their agenda and ideas to Americans. It is actually more accurate to say that a small sub-species of Conservative Republicans hold the high ground. They captured this high ground by carefully crafting their message over the past forty years—not because of the truth of their propositions.
You have been writing all day. Your mind wanders from the page. You realize that you have always been a stupid and insensitive person.
You watch the Cat Stevens brouhaha on TV.
Inscribed On the Collar Of His Highness Dog At Kew
I am His Highness dog at Kew.
Pray tell me, Sir, whose dog are you?
You have been watching too many reruns of The West Wing and X-Files late at night.
You returned from Vietnam a couple of months ago. You are working the graveyard shift at the Brig. You are sitting at your desk in the deserted receiving room. You have been working one shift on and one shift off for two weeks. You’re tired and miserable.
It’s getting late. You sit alone in the office working on employee performance appraisals. You are working on Skippy’s performance appraisal. His is the last one, the one you have been avoiding.
She sits beside the window in her efficiency apartment. She reads the newspaper in the dying summer light. A fan, turned on high, several feet away, battles the hot summer air where she sits. The air conditioner broke several weeks ago. She does not have the money to fix or replace it.
He teaches law at a large state university. He wanted the war when it started. He was all for it. He knew all the abstract arguments for it and was not afraid to repeat them to all who would listen. A lot of folks listened.
You are typing on your manual typewriter. You pause to look out the window. It is another stunning day, nothing but blue skies.
He sits at his desk. He reads the latest intelligence report on the war.
You recall the night the second Iraq war started.
You have been writing a blog the past several weeks. You don’t have any problem finding things and people to write about. What you don’t have though is a product that will capture share of mind.
It was the summer of 1998 and you were not working. The English translation of W. G. Sebald’s The Rings of Saturn had just been published. You read about it in a book review and buy the book.
In August 1992, when the dog days were drawing to an end, I set off to walk the county of Suffolk, in the hope of dispelling the emptiness that takes hold of me whenever I have completed a long stint of work.
The mind is inherently embodied.You think about metaphors as you wander about the world.
Thought is mostly unconscious.
Abstract concepts are largely metaphorical.
These are three major findings of cognitive science. More than two millennia of a priori philosophical speculation about these aspects of reason are over. Because of
these discoveries, philosophy can never be the same again.