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When I was four, one afternoon I touched my own arm. I realized that when I touched my arm, I could feel both the sensation of my arm under my fingers, and the sensation of the fingers touching my arm. But when someone else touched my arm, I only felt their hand touching my arm. I could feel what my arm felt, but not what their fingers felt. This made me think of all the sensations I couldn't have, because I wasn't other people--not situated inside of their bodies, but only mine. I envisioned the street outside my day care full of people whose sensations I wasn't having. I wanted to be all of them at once. I wondered why I couldn't be, and why I was the one that I was.

It was a busy afternoon.
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"Somewhere in the casual flow of things I always forget, in the rowdiness of discussions, that these are the fragile things, thoughts that flutter or fly straight and sharp, like rays or sparks in glass windows. I forget my intellectual spirituality. And as a spirituality, it perhaps wants more grace and awe and mystery and is offended by constant peeking away at ideas. Or is this only my understanding--which still seems to operate fundamentally on a level prior to (or perhaps past) more primitive (or perhaps more advanced) than language. My wonder was always wordless.

"Why must we seek through language? Heidegger's explanation--that language encompasses many, seemingly pre-linguistic levels--is becoming more and more welcome. The things that long ago I said my goal was to take apart and put back together again were names of abstract ideas--forms. Do the ideas arise first, vague and dim, waiting for words which come later? Are the ideas there before the words that name them, calling for words? Are the same ideas embedded in our minds, regardless, these things for which we later find the words--?"

And on another page, above a sketch of College Avenue:

"Must such thinking [philosophical thinking] necessarily be thought about oneself and one's world? It must be; for these are the things for which we have names. Both the human things and the scientific things can be discussed...."

  1. I was the cutest baby philosopher ever.

  2. If nothing else, in 12 years, I've learned to get to the point. On the other hand, people are more likely to complain now that I don't do enough stage-setting. But I don't think I could write like this any more if I tried. Poem-writing, story-writing, song-writing: all apparently lost.


[Analytic philosophy Gods, this was a very long time ago in my timeline. My frontal lobes weren't done yet.]

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