a cold and sobering April afternoon and
i am still quiet unsure what made me decide to open
and rekindle reading some Heidegger...
these days: notably in the realm of public intellectualism
philosophy is a quasi-science
that rummages in the indecencies of pseudo-
                collectivism of learning or its lack-ing...
the lackey bridge of "concern" for "truth":
even though such a fascination with the ordeal of life
is unfounded in anything being beyond mere
gesticulation... that so much of this world
mediates emphasis while at the same time mitigation
is (if not merely as if): blinding to find the culprit
of "thought": that grand moral ought of lost narrative
for / of(f) self...
           coming across the term hisotriology is unlike
coming across the term history -
       apparently time is very different in the realm of
history when compared to time as a measurement
with space too being made compact...
there seems to be no clarification with regards to
measuring: that in science time and space are not
allocated constants:
like in painting: if canvas is the space
then time is the brush... and the science is the painting
in between...
             yet philosophy is a luxury that in the cold
mind of this German existentialist is nothing compared
to the romanticism of binding philosophy to poetry
because: as such, there is no more poetry left in me...
consciousness and logic with appeals to instinctive reasoning...
'the animal which is the human being is identified
as the "historiological" animal'...