A Momentary Flow

Books are a narcotic.

Poets say science takes away from the beauty of the stars — mere globs of gas atoms. Nothing is “mere”. I too can see the stars on a desert night, and feel them. But do I see less or more? The vastness of the heavens stretches my imagination — stuck on this carousel my little eye can catch one-million-year-old light. A vast pattern — of which I am a part… What is the pattern or the meaning or the why? It does not do harm to the mystery to know a little more about it. For far more marvelous is the truth than any artists of the past imagined it. Why do the poets of the present not speak of it? What men are poets who can speak of Jupiter if he were a man, but if he is an immense spinning sphere of methane and ammonia must be silent?

When Descartes says: philosophy is sufficient to itself only for knowledge, and Kant completes by saying: if knowledge has limits, they are all comprised in the structure of the knowing subject - in other words, in the very thing that permits knowledge - the link between accessing truth and the exigency of a transformation of the subject and its being by itself is definitely broken

The private self to me is the most mundane and boring aspect of self- the “I think therefore I am” dictum.

We should not be surprised that life, having subjugated the bulk of inert matter on Earth, would go on to subjugate technology, and bring it also under its reign of constant evolution, perpetual novelty, and an agenda out of our control. Even without the control we must surrender, a neo-biological technology is far more rewarding than a world of clocks, gears, and predictable simplicity.

IF LITERATURE is food for the
 mind, then a poem is a banquet

Biology is not destiny. It was never more than tendency. It was just nature’s first quick and dirty way to compute with meat. Chips are destiny.

Is yours an honest lament?…Most are not, you know. Most self-imposed burdens are founded on misperceptions. We - at least we of sincere character - always judge ourselves by stricter standards than we expect others to abide by. It is a curse, I suppose, or a blessing, depending on how one views it… Take it as a blessing, my friend, an inner calling that forces you to strive to unattainable heights.

We are just an advanced breed of monkeys on a minor planet of a very average star. But we can understand the Universe. That makes us something very special.

Everything of beauty in the world has its ultimate origins in the human mind. Even a rainbow isn’t beautiful in and of itself.” -