1 Dec 2007

[Book, if you remember that.]

How did I get here? A small, immovable question. Like all transcendent things, I can look at every piece of the puzzle and the way they all fit together, and it will still be a mystery. Or is it merely that it is as a part of Alice in Wonderland, a story cleverly turned inside out, and now it is of the weird? (I pretend to use the archaic meaning, touched with the modern interpretation: the weird was once one’s fate.) I have been nowhere, it would seem, between a before and a now. So what exactly does one do when he imagines that he has been to the platonic Land of Pure Forms? After all, the zone of zero is the only ideal that has any reality we can measure. (That, in itself, being only as useful as knowing that it must be raining somewhere: true, but a kind of rubber that never hits the road, like an eraser that’s more valuable than anything it might erase.) And I suppose I have been “here”, too, more than once — the only place I have never visited is that mythic place of “there”. Next door to cloud nine.

posted by John H. Doe @ 12:01 am

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