Jonfaith > Recent Status Updates

This has proved perfect company. I’m currently adrift on his “hurry of bell-notes”

Couldn’t help but think the big picture this morning was slightly different from yesterday’s iteration.

I could finish this today but election results and El Clasico will dominate the day’s remainder.

I’ve yet to garner an elongated session with this but I do enjoy it although the domestic counterpoint smells like Updike.

The essay on foam, the sublime and Longinus is achingly beautiful.

I’m stunned by the essay on sleep. Alternating between Homer and Virginia Woolf creates a sublime in marvelous terror.

Although it might reflect the current milieu of my work the thought did occur just now how nice it would be to call out and simply read this all day. That thought hasn’t been so distinct in years, probably when I was dazzled by Braudel that considered such, however briefly.

There’s a torrent of emotions at play each time one Jon Faith is able to read a page.

But the black blood of a man
once it falls to the ground
who can call it back?

SZ’s chapter 4 remains the most impactful, which suggests something about my retention, about my life.

This promises to be a favorite.

Simultaneously subtle and searing, the propensity for the slightest association to unleash torrents of loss and pain is an amazing condition of our grief.

This is necessary.

Truly loved the reading of the first quartet: op 18 no 1

Going to read a chapter every few days.

I’ll finish this today.

What, then, is the being of tragedy?

And an abrupt, off putting stray into the Republic.

Perhaps comedy itself, from Aristophanes onward, is the dramatic undermining of ontology.

Another book I'm beginning to doubt.

This one is also at a crossroads, a selection point where I’m considering chucking it.

I’ll finish this today.

I am loving every page of this.

The last thirty pages contained rigorous, however speculative.

Now that I’m back home, I need to think about this, especially in terms of whether I’m going to push ahead?

Maybe what matters about the past is what you cannot remember, and memories are just sediment.

Life is just a prologue to a ghost story.

Die just right, and they’ll play the Rouse.

Despite my fears surrounding cognitive science this appears to be corporate journalism. I’m certainly enjoying it but am not taking it on holiday this week.

We’ve reached a moment of horror however weird and shadowed.