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December 7th 2009

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    The vegetable garden contains satisfactory gloom.  It is just too wet and cold for constructive activity.  And this is that mood which gives credence to an idea that soil is sleeping.

    The new me could assert dominance by drawing up plans, writing lists, remaining active while soil sleeps, so that when seasons change he is prepared.  This Ancient Egyptian view of preparedness well defines a nirvana for the new me, but winter habit for the old me is to drift off into dreams, otherwise things get dangerous.

    It is that secret place that exists between a person and purpose.  So much easier when the relationship is defined by the power of others, put there by whips and chains and want.  Then all that remains is a contented disgruntlement that passes for unabashed cynicism and accepts nothing as given, except a monotony occasionally relieved by an angst only pills or large quantities of alcohol can cure.  Which is a position the old me sees as quite reasonable, as he waits in ambush for the mistakes of others.

 

    

    How good it would be to forge alliance with purpose.  Follow the advice, join the cacophony, march with the band, become one through acceptance.  But this is what happened to Heidegger, when he joined with the Nazi party, shook hands with Hitler, and lost his crown.

    The new me would argue Heidegger's participation in those awful moments belonged to misplaced "enthusiasm awash with wishful-ness" or some other courtesy.  The old me long ago dismissed Heidegger's participation in absolute folly as the inevitable consequence of following the sloth of career and ambition, and after all, thinking is the occupation of conniving arseholes. 

    However, the old me knows the vegetable garden is far from asleep.   Rather it contains no element of that permanent quality, sometimes uttered through the confusing adage "fish or eat ice-cream", which is so apparently necessary for orderliness and purpose amongst those increasingly dreadful elements that comprise the new and busy, yet oddly generous, me.  

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tim candler

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(fish or cut bait)  (date that will live in infamy)  (Arendt, Heidegger, Hitler