May 5, 2009

The other day, I’m minding my own business, reading my Barthes before class, when I come upon:

“…accomplissant le mot de Nietzsche: ‘Un homme labyrinthique ne cherche jamais la verité, mais uniquement son Ariadne.'”

I give up. K., Stendhal, and Nehamas were as much as I could manage.

In my defense I was lying in a hospital bed when thinking about Bar, and one could do worse than get a little Kantian when delirious.

On the record, then, though no doubt it was always already apparent to you (and, if we’re being honest for a moment, to me): this is an exercise in longing and hopeful and yes interested curation.

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