Martin Heidegger (1889–1976)

One shouldn’t forget that Pythagorean cryptic utterance: “Do not cut in two what is on the road.”

Philosophy indeed, it seems, is a road. The utterance means then: choose that philosophy and that road to wisdom in which you will not ‘cut in two’, in which you will propound, not contradictions, but firm and unchanging truths. Yet with the introduction of that scission dividing the ontic and the ontological, we find ourselves sitting at the very road cut in two we swore would be untouched. As the philosopher too concerned with the psychophysical, we begin and end with the wrong tools and placements of anything through which one cannot work out of. When Heidegger begins to enter ‘in-the-world’ we begin to see this as a precedent to ramble upon the endless infinite variations that prompt themselves to the physical—a Pollock painting of verbs serving no philosophical use. Through the obvious obfuscation only evident in the confused and the obscuring of Daoist origins do we finally understand the relevance of the entire deviation of authenticities and inauthenticities that permeates a portion of this book. That play of words that becomes the archonic instrument breathing dualisms finds itself losing its charm after every verb is a proverbial transmitting, charioteering, boomeranging (and so on) into new fractal amorphous verbs. The modalities are endless for all and Heidegger gets lost in the complexity while ultimately not doing metaphysics, but rather displacing common orderings of semantics. The case of the phenomenologist who identifies with his phenomenology. Though one may disagree with the book in its entirety, partially nod along or frown with foul intent, one must admire the beautific simplicity of Dasein, the self-reflexive meta-fictionalized Reader whose thoughts are splain in real-time and whose splaying is thought of in itself—though these “places” may not be of use. It’s format certainly is. The book ends with an unfinished question mark. Or rather, a concretized question mark with no discernible answer since the Aletheia of such inquiry would result in absolute blissful theurgy.

That demiurgic intellect placed in the crux of the theurgic One. I solemnly weep, won’t you respond? I am you. Be.
… (mere)