Friday, May 25, 2012

Habermas and news, realism with idealism

While I’m privately integrating everything I’ve shared online during the past year (given free time, for the sake of specifically benefitting from upcoming readings of others), I feed my addiction to news, including Habermas’s view of EU politics, which I give too little time now to fairly discuss, because I prefer to “lose” myself (no, regain myself) in thinking through what I’ve earlier written, even substantially clarifying some of it, e.g., my idealism of mind.

I love a living resonance between dailiness and conceptual venturing. And I so wish for more free time sooner than later. (But the extended freedom will happen later: early 2013.)

Saturday, May 19, 2012


I’m soon to get back to regular posting here.

In my very limited free time, I’ve been doing…

  • digital chores: Apple is canceling its storage space, at which I’ve had tens of documents linked from blog postings and web pages. Replacing URLs (Dropbox now)—after locating them all— is not for an aging brain.
  • mistaking a local scholar of Habermas’s work for a kindred spirit: I’ll later share parts of our recent emails. It’s a good way to get into why I spent so many years with Habermas’ work. (And you’re so interested to know.)
  • gathering a slew of themes into a coherent plan for upcoming work online: I’ve said so often that I’m doing this, then so little becomes of it; one might think I’ve lost touch with my therapist. Actually, my self-deprecating attitude does the trick.

    I confess, I’m a bit vain about what’s in the works for my precious vining, my trOpical enpathing [sic…sick?].

Today’s weather is as perfect as I can remember—another day in paradise.

At Cheeseboard Pizza (pesto and mushrooms today, sprinkling of blue cheese), I sat on a sidewalk bench next to a lone girl-woman in breezy rose-colored dress, old high-laced shoes, old denim jacket (vintage sartorialist), and dissheveled dark brown hair, finishing her baklava from somewhere.

She remained afterward, aimlessly entertaining the surround.

I knew she thought I wanted to talk to her.

True—yet, I didn’t.

Two strangers under a tree’s gentle sway.

I almost blurted chirpily “Another day in paradise.” But I was more interested in the silent dramaturgy of my desire to start an entertainment. You will admire my restraint.

I watched a very old guy walk by “us” with his manicured poodle. I felt like Woody Allen in “Annie Hall” exuberantly scripting passers by. I might have turned to her and started babbling—as she was standing up, and walked away.