Everyday Blasé
I’m not depressed or excited. Occasionally, I’m antsy with a general sense of discontent as if I should be doing something more engaging, something that enraptures me.
I’m not depressed or excited. Occasionally, I’m antsy with a general sense of discontent as if I should be doing something more engaging, something that enraptures me.
Before whose eyes do I stand?
In our daily lives, in our jobs and marriages, in the public spotlight when values, belief, and integrity are at stake, we say dignity shmignity. But come some horrendous disease that has us crapping our pants and babbling like babies, well, then we demand dignity! We don’t care how we lead our life but, upon its finish, we’re supposed to remain composed.
Yes, reading philosophy is not the easiest, most casual thing one can do.
I hear people say things like, “I mostly read non-fiction” while others proffer, “I prefer fiction.” But, as a reader of philosophy, I’m not sure where I stand
Really, who cares if you or anyone believes what I believe? Do I even care if I believe what I believe?
I rarely trust artists talking about their own work.
The thing about things is that they are rarely just things. Things coerce, often in the most unforgiving ways.
I’ve always secretly been envious of the reborn, that phrase and domain carved out by Christian evangelicals. What a treat! For most of us, we’re shot out of the womb and onto tracks that guide us, steer us, determine us for the rest of our lives.
The word of God! Ha! How silly! But these genes, well, they’re real!