Tag One Good Paragraph

A Decent Sunrise

Sunrises matter. They smooth the edges and let us know that the previous day should be continued or forgotten. They tell us to take care of ourselves and those around us, especially those around us. How many consider their blind spots in order to make some sense of their lives and then hope for a decent sunrise?

Wheel

I’ll probably have to kill my dog soon. There is no philosophical treatise to talk or think about at this point beyond the task itself. I am here to witness her pain and take care of business. This is my job for having her as a domesticated pet. This is what is going to happen. And there is nothing, reasoned or imagined, that will stop me. She looks at me

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We have to move on. . . .

One thing all the founding fathers have in common is that they are dead. We are the ones who are alive, we are the ones who must make the laws and constitution work, juggling many variables the founders could never have foreseen. They created an America in which black people were deemed to be property and women did not have the right to vote, much less run for office. The

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Confronting the Limits of Self-Expression

The inexplicable loneliness we sometimes feel might be due to the fact that verbal discourse fails to capture the complexity of our actual neurological states. Paul Churchland, for example, suggests that the two hemispheres of our brains communicate with a much more intricate and intimate “language” than we do with each other. On the other hand, some philosophers claim that language doesn’t gain its meaning from our internal experience at

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Nothing Beyond This

I held back my breath for a time, but you didn’t. You had been to the very edge of the world. You knew the sound of the wind, low and constant, thrumming against the land, the ice, the sea. You’d seen how the pale gray-green earth disappeared beneath ice and snow, and then how that white arc of land thrust into the slate colored sea. How that arc dwindled towards

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Dostoevsky on Avoiding Life

Why, we have come almost to looking upon real life as an effort, almost as hard work, and we are all privately agreed that it is better in books. And why do we fuss and fume sometimes? Why are we perverse and ask for something else? We don’t know what ourselves. It would be the worse for us if our petulant prayers were answered. Come, try, give any one of

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