Martes

Eleven thirty five. I’ve been thumbing through Aristotle’s Categories and Metaphysics for the fun of it. It seems such a privilege to hold an ancient book of wisdom in my hands. Here is history, something iconic and archetypal that continues to mold our experience. He is concerned with matters of substance and being, which we call the sub branch of ontology. He asserts that the essence of a thing is inherent in it and inseparable from it, so Plato’s concept of the Forms is nonsense. Aristotle takes great pains to split hairs on the most common sense issues to us. Perhaps in his day there was no common sense realism, so he had to invent it for the rest of posterity. It makes me wonder about the writings of Confucius, who I guess was very rationalistic and not so spiritual. East and West had some diffusion between them, or else Plato maybe wouldn’t have had a concept of reincarnation… It’s after twelve now, so I’d better eat something…

Noon hour. It was raining a while ago, and now there’s some sunshine. The buds on my magnolia still have not opened. It is good to partake of the fine things in life: a great book, a beautiful work of art or music, and anything that uplifts the spirit and educates the hungry mind. I want to play my guitar today. The instrument is a thing of beauty, and was made for creating further beautiful things.

Two o’clock. I’m not much of a guitar player. I would have to practice every day to really learn where the notes are and use them to effect. Lately my bass playing hasn’t been great either. Just a lot of noodling malarkey. Now I feel kind of lousy and tired. But the mood shall pass…

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