uncertainty

A humble suspension of certainty seems necessary ... almost always: in order that a conversation can take place; in order to think. Otherwise there is no motion, no mobility in argument, in reasoning, in dialectics. There has to be a space: an empty position as a kind of parameterization so that one can entertain possibilities serially. Not just one hand and then the other, but this that and the other: or, or, or. Something might fit. And judgment might be made. But the entrance of judgment depends on a parade of alternatives, not on an a priori certainty. Judgment is a choice, an imposition, a selection.

Mostly me—that lump that moves when they call Brad Borevitz. There is, or so I have heard, a Buddhist exercise wherein the question, “who am I?” is asked and answered until exhaustion. The enlightened result, I'm afraid, is still a mystery to me, having been unable to sustain the query beyond the repetitive strain of its boring recurrence and into that metaphysical realm where all notions of self are somehow gotten beyond.

Why do i do what he says? He has his reasons for wanting things written down. I don't really care what they are. They are his reasons, not mine. Maybe he wants to be sure i'm paying attention. It's not so he can read this later, ‘cause he can’t. I guess that's it. Something is missing since he can't see any more. Something is missing and he's trying to replace it with something else. And I guess I do care after all, since the first thing I‘ve written, is all about his motivations. So in writing this, I’ve managed to figure something out about him. But what could he figure out about himself this way. And there is still the question of why I agreed to do this.