All The More So Hasan B. Malik (Tennysanyone)

Naipaul’s way of writing what he sees. Mandelbrot’s emphasis on pictures in a sterile academic environment. Ramon y Cajal’s pictures, drawings based on his analysis of “millions of neurons”. Then, this, the sterile picture that awaits the exalted eye, the practised hand of our parochial critics. Well, to hell with them.
I am thinking about strands as I write this, in the sense of connections. Who could have predicted that my two heroes, Mandelbrot and Ramon y Cajal, could have had so much in common? Or that Popper and von Hayek would as well? That Pareto would be detested by Popper, who could not stand his theoretical support of Fascism? That I would meet Naipaul, after Rushdie, and all the others, and find him standing with Sebald, Chaudhuri, and Chatwin? That Burton would prefigure these men in being a traveller, and that Nansen would also enter the mix via that connection? Pictures, visualisation, seeing again, imagining again, and not going inside oneself, that is the final word. As for my past: goodbye to all that.
Hello world.

n. (from the original Greek) The ability to endure easily. NB Also the power to endure disease easily. “Born sick, commanded to be well.” Look up Fulke-Greville.
(Common usage) An emotional state wherein elation and great happiness are momentarily felt.
adj. Euphoric.

So last night, considering all the ramifications of letting go of God and Godding, a great man came to my help:
“When one man suffers from a delusion, it is called insanity. When many people suffer from a delusion it is called religion.”
R. M. Pirsig

The initial feeling was one of dizziness, since now the world was held together by physical forces and none else. But then I asked: hasn’t it always been like this, and haven’t miracles been the only way for the Divine to manifest itself? And musing thus, I fell asleep, to dream of rains of codfish.

P.S. Why moths fly towards flame.

Hello world.