File spoon-archives/heidegger.archive/heidegger_2001/heidegger.0108, message 6


From: "Blank" <gulio-AT-sympatico.ca>
Subject: Re: Mnemosyne: thinking poetization
Date: Fri, 3 Aug 2001 12:59:49 -0400


Dear List,

So I mounted the old ass and accepted my allotment, borrowed a flashlight
and went forward while I was returning any deliberate intentional aims I
might still have had to the simple margins of the text outside of which I
knew there was nothing for me. It's not so much that differance and all the
others was of interest to me, rather, in the endless flipping of page after
page after page of an overwrought sophisticated knotted baroque complexity,
it was Polysemia... that casted her spell on me and became my guiding
horizon. Even today, while I am more sober, I feel the old inspiration that
took my abilities away and left me speechless with an impotent calm always
on the verge of trying to say something if it wasn't for this limit that
gathers all I could have said into the simplicity of a pausing period.... Ah
yes, Calliope is near by... occasionally a proper name pops up and for that
I have to excuse my inability to withdraw the insistence of them if they
transform intentionality into intensity and help us along in Mnemoscenic
thoughfulness. All I have from that time are fragmented pieces of a dream
that would have constituted a voluminous well-ordered systematic method of
philosophical thoughts. What is left is a rule of thumb here and there, some
old saying whose practical import really makes a difference to the good life
put on idle, postponed until a further inkling notice makes the fullfillment
of  a determined will somehow relevant and not trivial. Hegel would have
hated me. It's to close to the Stoic Skepticism that nauseated him, the
contentless stream of thoughts... all he saw was a restless confusion of a
sorrowful consciousness that is not determined to do anything and so he got
busy with a laborious reflection that goes on and on and on and misses the
true limit of our golden river resting in the simple form with a broken
style in the dark night outside consciousness whose madness Hegel didn't
want any part off.

Gulio



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