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The philosophical battlefield is strewn with dead words, dead concepts. All of these deaths, however, are suicides. The combatants took one look at each other, put their guns to their heads and pulled the trigger. None of our theories wanted to deal with reality; none of them want it to be measured by consequences.
The industrialized brain lacks natural responsiveness — fight. It performs the acrobatics of virtue woefully out of shape.
The soul is an Icarus, with wings made of flimsy signifiers.
The world is a playground of identities.
