to whom it may concern

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Posts may seem arbitrary, as a matter of what purpose the blog serves (“Whatever you choose, evidently”—and why not?), but there is a plan—though little time to carry on.

I sometimes respond to appealing ephemera, you know (e.g., appearance of an appealing book) or to some issue suggested by someone’s presence. Yet, a stable agenda exists.

I have an enduring interest in better understanding creative growth, you know, relative to making good lives, understanding the range of “loves,” and for making good sense of our ultimate condition.

I’m a literary-philosophical psychologist wanting some lasting sense of our humanity—beyond my capabilities, perhaps, but the venture can stay fruitful (given time).

Also—and modestly—I want to capture a tangible art of living that may grow to belong to oneself easily. I want a lasting hold on conceptions of happiness, beyond the living happiness that makes conceptions of it possible. And I want that to belong naturally and intimately to advancing humanistic union globally, not Romantically, but really.

Can there be something new to say about senses of The Good or conceptions of the beauty of days going by? What may be lasting purposes in elations of solitude?

Autopoiesis in nature leads to we humans who can live in light of autotelic appeals, like some self-begetting writer pretending
to be living into a long poem worth more than the idiosyncrasy of
one more Earthling, first half of one more evolving century.

Anyway, there are many kinds of writing, obviously: essayistic (non-fictionally narrative), confessonal/autobiographical, poetic/fictional, conceptual, discursive.... My intention to someday weave them all
into a singular ongoingness must involve many pieces along the way
for later deeply engaging an intergenric Intimacy.

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