Wednesday, January 19

What I was learning, of course, is that philosophy is a work of art; the best philosophers were the ones who wrote best; the best systems were the prettiest. Nothing could be less like the real world than Plato's Timaeus, or Leibnitz's Monadology, or McTaggart's timeless, spaceless universe of love. Their virtues are of the same order as a fugue or a Cubist painting. I cannot understand why the practice of philosophy never imparts wisdom but rather the opposite. Imagine a college student going to the head of the philsophy department for advice about a pregnancy or venereal disease, or a decision to refuse to be drafted. The subject seems to have as deleterious effect upon good sense as the practice of poetry.

— Kenneth Rexroth, An Autobiographical Novel, p. 153

Tuesday, January 18

dun dun dun pew pew pew

As with biology or social history, our understanding of technology suffers greatly when it is bound too tightly to notions of progress.

Sunday, January 9

quork, quork

Saturday, January 8

acquisitions

Friday, January 7

commerce city

saturday, january 1

six years on
the same bank sign says 12 degrees
i am tracing my steps, a tired dog
returning to the scene of this or that crime

the coffee tastes the same
there's less smoke in the bars
a few more franchise restaurants and
parking lots where better, seedier
landmarks used to hold down space
but the people are still just
about what they were then

the cold that laps against all these walls
and soaks diluted through the rooms within
is the same cold i remember tugging at the
holes in my jeans that night

turn the wheel carefully, there's ice
all over the road
watch it with the brakes, don't
make too many sudden moves
easy through the turns,
watch the lettered
streetsigns pass
the motions come back
easy enough

that sense of familiarity comes cheap
but i tried to think,
and i couldn't tell you any more
what i was after when i left

and whatever was here
has pretty well forgotten me

easy enough.