AT THE STOA

I have been introduced to John Irving’s works a bit late in life: I had developed a certain resistance to easier impressionability, or I would have liked to think so.  In many ways I am self-contradictory, and in more levels my recognition of this thrives. Upon reading The World According to Garp I was hit with another level of how I am self-contradictory, and I write, more or less, from the first lines, with a consistent performative contradiction, as I do now.  The realization hit the way only a hindsight hits:  thus I am somehow an impossible person, for all my realizations hit with the element of memory.  It is as if I am doomed over and over to say “I already know this, but it is just now that I know that I know this this consciously.”  My memory will be my undoing, perhaps.  Or my infuriating stubbornness, which can sometimes be the same thing.  Perhaps I have developed a resistance to impressionability so much that when I do learn, I do so more by a bastardized anachr

tumblr.com/tagged/jacques%20derrida " I have promised. A lapse of time: it was only an interval, almost nothing, the infinite diminution of a music interval, and what a note, what news, what music.  The verdict.  As if suddenly evil never, nothing evil ever, happened again.  As though evil would only happen again with death - or only later, too late, so much later. " - Jacques Derrida, "A Silkworm of one's own," 1995  Upon reading this a sound resonated throughout the terrain where there is as much through as out, wherefore years upon years of running and living through dying and living out of living became as still as the evil that was you.  I have promised.  And there is no and: all was done with that have, with that past in the promise, and the fruition of which this is a part.  "To you, because I have promised."  The period is more eloquent, but its eloquence feeds upon the words that precede it, without which it would not be, without whi