Today I went to hear a philosopher Of Very Large Brain and generally whoa-mamma stature talk about a certain kind of knowledge, and a fascinating thing happened. I couldn't understand what he was saying.
He spoke clearly, and rather softly, and he stirred the air carefully with his hands, as if to be sure it wouldn't deflate when he baked it later. He provided a spare outline. The outline contained nothing but sentences that made perfect sense, and he never spoke anything except a sentence that made sense. But it made no difference at all -- it was like being rained on by water that is at body temperature, and not being able to tell if you are getting wet or not. The room was mesmerised in the way that you see gorillas sitting thoughtfully in the rain, with a miniature tiara of droplets in the fur on their brows.
Boy with Yellow Converse was there. Drawing in his notebook. I wonder if he felt like a gorilla in warm rain.
Reaching for the sky
1 day ago