Monthly Archives: January 2018

A Simple Soul?…

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Bright.

Free.

Easy…

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Or superficial?

Blissful in ignorance rather than poised,

tight-rope like, upon the very lip of uncertainty…

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We have no words for it,

this ‘traffic jam’ of artifice

which we seem content to pursue.

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Our infinite regress of virtuosity

is no more than a virtual virus.

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Our end?

Yet another blind-bumper away from the real.

Still Stone-Less At-Chat…

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“No one in their right mind believes that stones can walk.”

“Despite the fact that the Folk-Record is unequivocable on this point.”

“It is also unequivocable about stones dancing, and drinking from streams.”

“I may be able to clarify the streams. They may be underground.”

“They may even be telluric currents, but you promised.”

“That, unfortunately, is deductive reasoning for you. It was the only bit of wall we had not checked.”

“We had so checked it… last time.”

“Only from a distance and that does not count.”

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As it turned out there proved to be another bit of wall we had not checked.

Also distant and too far away to consider once the snow started.

I mean, really started.

There were compensations though, like the trees and the wildlife.

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“Are you sure it isn’t the Throne-Stone?”

“Not near enough to the wall and the gate.”

“But the wall is a mnenomic. Your mind could easily have contracted the distance.”

“Not the right size, or colour.”

“Like that’s not easily accounted for.”

“Maybe you’re right and I’ve discovered a new species of stone, which can walk!”

“But that would be a New-Old species of stone.”

“So perhaps it just went for a stroll, again.”

“What, in the snow?”

“…We did.”

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Amnesia…

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A nameless shadow flits across the face of Science.

The Theory of Evolution has not been proven.

The ‘missing links’ for each species have not come forth from the fossil record.

The constituent parts of our DNA have proven far older than the Earth itself.

They can only have come from deep, deep-space.

Yet, in one sense, we have always been here.

Each catastrophic cataclysm endured has been but a pruning.

A clarion call to new growth.

The ushering in of the previously overlooked.

Those ekers out of existence.

The unassuming, unsung, survivors.

But if our very make-up forestalls the evolutionary leap, then who, or what, makes it?

We must turn to Memory for our answer.

We all know how she works.

She, too, is a gardener.

She cuts, and she prunes, and she grafts.

She contracts, or shrinks, both time and space.

And has a mind only for the outstanding.

The memorable is, precisely, in this sense, a cut above.

And where there are gaps in the narrative of her mind?

She fills them in…

She creates… new species.

This is how ‘our’ planet…

Forgets.

 

 

On Philosophy…

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It is clear that every ‘great philosophy’ is, no more and no less than, the confession of its author.

To explain how a philosophy’s highest flung claims have been derived, therefore,

we need only ask, ‘what really makes its author tick?’

The desire to know, is not, then, the Mother of Philosophy.

For, look, here one desire, and now there, another, has put knowledge

to use as a means to, shamelessly, further its own ends…

The fundamental desires of Man have always been ‘philosophers’.

And each of them is only too happy to present itself

as the be all and end all of existence!

As master of the others.

All Man’s desires are tyrannical.

And for the philosopher, everything is personal.

His ideas, inevitably, bear testimony to the hierarchy of his secret desires.

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