for the sake of illuminating the movements of my thoughts

some thoughts as they were born:

i must write a book about justice and practices of reading, demonstrating that justice is possible.  we often fail to recognize injustices done to us, because we tend to imagine that our actions, statements, language, in fact our selves, are being read correctly.

· my thoughts are liquid metal flowing unto the brink of articulation; that articulation is a front of super-cooled liquid nitrogen.  my thoughts freeze when they meet this front, becoming a solid mass seemingly without intricacies to be explored.  just solid and simple.  that is why my theses so frequently sound solid, simple and not worth-saying.  this mass is meant to be shattered.  dropped onto the pavement from 50 stories.  each fragment in turn is meant to be broken open.  and the fragments of fragments of fragments.  many fractals at once showcase their infinite intricacy.  but the fractals that are my thoughts do not.  their infinite intricacy must be explored to be appreciated, and explored on faith, like reaching for the other side of the wardrobe to narnia for the first time…reaching for the back of a wardrobe that isn’t there.

o that i could have chosen another metaphor that “logically signifies” the nature of my thoughts as well as my liquid metal metaphor does, and that i could have eschewed metaphor altogether in my explanation highlight the extent to which the “meanings” of words exist beyond what they “signify.”  argument is not all about, or even mostly about syllogism, logical nakedness.  it is about feelings and images that grab us for reasons we do not understand, though we command them, make use of them.  we are moved by the sensorial experience of ideas…not just their content.  in fact, the experience of the idea and the content of the idea are not distinct.  (wake up ye academia).

the labor of this impossible project is so beautiful

· there is a feeling that tells me that “beautiful” and “improbable” are somehow related.

it is such labor that it has taken me years just to grab and externalize enough thoughts as they pass to begin to communicate the hierarchies and motions of my thinking.  only now have i become certain that justice is possible, that we can communicate, that we can rightly appreciate and honor the words, actions and selves of others.

desperation and inertia often derive from the feeling that justice can never be done…to ourselves, to anyone, or anything.

i know this:

justice is fully possible.  i can articulate my experience of myself fully *enough* to be read in the way(s) that would reflect another’s proper honoring of me.  “give enough credit” is the chunk of meaning closest to what i mean.

i certainly know the injustices done to me…but i didn’t always.

to give you an example: if you are not paralyzed by profundity and the sensation of checking my words against your experience and feeling “this is true”…you are reading my words (and me) incorrectly.