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.”

Quote marks are redundant, he reminded us. Everything is writing: moments, auratic liminality of tropicalities in reading you across the hyperNet.

Meanwhile, more lives emerge for ultimizing human potential.

It is paradise enough.