I remember the day when Josh so surprisingly contacted me and invited me to a rooftop party at his friend's. That did not happen, but later into the summer, on a hot August day, perhaps, we sat down together in Book Trader and had a chat about everything. The conversation was, according to him, "one of the most overbearing" he had had for a while.
Too bad. Thoughts that we exchanged about poetry and logic and political philosophy. But I continued my occasional stalking of his writings. Intellectual stalking, as we say.
It was only until recently that I started to understand the format and ordering of those entries of his—too many conversations scattered among too many meetings. Conflicts and reconciliations, academic or interpersonal. Snippets of them would already overwhelm the interwangs.
The Metaphysical Club. Pragmatism. The unity of experience. How living is different from just "studenting." How fast experience can change one's ideas. The indisguishability and banality and yet weight of it all. (In that sense I only feel too fortunate that I was not good enough of a student to ever want to go straight to graduate school.)
Too bad. Thoughts that we exchanged about poetry and logic and political philosophy. But I continued my occasional stalking of his writings. Intellectual stalking, as we say.
It was only until recently that I started to understand the format and ordering of those entries of his—too many conversations scattered among too many meetings. Conflicts and reconciliations, academic or interpersonal. Snippets of them would already overwhelm the interwangs.
The Metaphysical Club. Pragmatism. The unity of experience. How living is different from just "studenting." How fast experience can change one's ideas. The indisguishability and banality and yet weight of it all. (In that sense I only feel too fortunate that I was not good enough of a student to ever want to go straight to graduate school.)
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