barbaric citizens,
I don't miss anybody who is not here do you? Myself I'm past being understood I think. I can hope for motivating stimulation that comes from being appreciated by a highly select few if not one or just two but as far as trying to figure anything out I think we are all out of luck here. I'm barely having a sense of the way thinking grows when it is no longer progressive but intensive. I imagine the potential of conversation as the emergence of an infinity of petals or as a crystallization where growth is always immanent and because it is complete then it's generous and hardly a sad need. As I stay close to a home that cools the fire of a foreign agency an infinite conversation shows the potentiality of a future where ideas come so easily that wasting thousands is not out of the question. Recently keeping my little boat close to the shore like Propertius I saw many threads unfolding and unraveling themselves almost like a natural phenomena showing the future of fragmenting posts. Because they exists without idetification it all represented a fleeting apparition. It was like the hunting of the book form is starting to take place and language is being possesed by a baroque monstrosity. A hybrid being, an oxymoron haunts our house language and its propositional form. Writing is a sweet agony tortous like a corkscrewing vine, mosaic of fleeting occasions whose experience doesn't make up anything memorable yet presently I remember how it is to just to be without a why, forever and for better or for worse.
tympan
_________________________________________________________________
Don't just Search. Find! http://search.sympatico.msn.ca/default.aspx The new MSN Search! Check it out!
--- from list heidegger@xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx ---