Tuesday, February 26, 2013

Eat my poison, Aristotle

Yeah, yeah. I get that the hemlock was Socrates. 
This is how I feel about words....
(a journal entry)

In line with the reading, I'm going to show restraint and only write 180 words. (15)
Aristotle and I are not friends this evening. He's far more constrained than I. (14)
While I know that in matters of social import he is correct, I've never been great at denying my mind its fixations and fancies. (24)
Bravery and courage are in plentitude. If I am to heed the reading, however, my passions sell me for wicked. (20)
Perhaps I coddle my Wilde and my Woolf because they feed my art. Am I lacking in character because I am ravenous for production of words? (26)
My vegetative state is a bevy of phrases. While men visualize form and fantasy, I conjure whole lexicons for images of pleasure. (22)
Character arises out of like activity, saith the Philosopher. Then writer I am and write I shall, and the excess will feed me when rational men find it too much to swallow. (32)
Perhaps I'll eke out my living hiding the weakness in my ethos in the thing at which excel. Whom then, but you or I, shall be the wiser? (26)

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