September 2018

Morning at the Window

They are rattling breakfast plates in basement kitchens,
And along the trampled edges of the street
I am aware of the damp souls of housemaids
Sprouting despondently at area gates.

The brown waves of fog toss up to me
Twisted faces from the bottom of the street,
And tear from a passer-by with muddy skirts
An aimless smile that hovers in the air
And vanishes along the level of the roofs.

T. S. Eliot, 1888 - 1965


Urbino et orbis

Every one is the other and no one is himself

Lo humano es imperceptible

Epiphany 8


Das Man

I am, that is I can

Exist in Time, Exist as Time, Exist as Language

Do we exist or are we a dream?

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