Wednesday, December 30, 2020

being mirrored in telic cohering of The Appeal

I write things, then forget their there
because I’m drawn toward writing the next
thing. I forget, then happen by, being
amazed!: I did that?

From altitude, the tropography is simply clear,
having a curious prettiness. Who’d surmise
a mode’s emerging tropology intimates a beauty
of tropogeny through awed praise?

Dear Appealing, what’s the singularity
of sourcing so cohering, having no name
for all the centripetality flowering
in itself?

Tuesday, September 8, 2020

singularity of a life

This is part 1 of—prefacing—“soul of Self interest

Normally for me, I don’t use ‘soul’, except relative to others’ use; but I’m fascinated by common appeal of that sense of Self (which is what “soul” is), which is of course historically rich.

I’m fascinated like an ethnographer might be fascinated—or a philologist
or psychoanalyst.

Friday, September 4, 2020


This is part 13 of “soul of Self interest

“I love audacities of creative life, even if you don’t forever want philological wonders.”

So said Jacques to Hélène via my imagination.

No, because you’ll die in six years anyway. My grief must someday end.”

Thursday, September 3, 2020

Friday, August 28, 2020

happy solitude

Life is life, so only tropical tangibles remain at death: words worth retaining about being in Time?

Events go by.

We may strive to be good neighbors, but we remain mostly unknown.
Little dramas of lifeworldliness frame ordinary pretense, causing my want
of solitude nearly every day.

Besides, Self interest is intrinsically worthwhile for creative kinds of enjoyment: self-differentiations, idealisms valued as such.