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| Know thyself, heh-heh-heh. |
TMI
My friend, the philosopher Tom Nashe, wrote not too long ago:
“In truth none of us knows himself very well, even those of us
obsessed with self-knowledge, the ones that have spent a decade in analysis,
that write down every other thought and feeling, that plunge their fingers into
every orifice to examine the viscosity of every fluid, watery, creamy,
slippery, coarse, that put under a metaphorical microscope the soft but well-formed turds of full
stomachs, the wax they candle from their ears, the hard buggers of the dry days of
summer, that record dreams in notebooks and reactions in the margins of novels
and plays, that make – and save – long lists, and write “Notes to Self.” There is the unexamined life not worth living.
Then, there are the lacy lies, the webs of willful misunderstanding that hold
the examined life together, so it can appear to make sense.”
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