Or: A Fictional Account of A Day.
It’s a cloudy day and I meet with my friend, Ludwig, at a cafe on Main Street. Ludwig is middle-aged and likes tweed jackets with patches on the elbows. 714 more words
I recall, a good number of years ago, reading that ‘a philosophical novel is an impossibility.’ I maintain that it was Iris Murdoch who said this – I remember being struck by the idea that, if anyone were to know, it should be her – but I can’t for the life of me dig it up via Google. 1,802 more words
From Wittgenstein’s Tractatus Logico-Philosphicus
7 Whereof one cannot speak, thereof one must be silent.
Sir Eduardo Paolozzi (1924 – 2005) was a British sculptor and artist whose beautiful mind conceived such masterpieces as the mosaic designs for Tottenham Court Road Station or the sculpture ‘Head of Invention’ installed in front of the Design Museum on the Thames at Butler’s Wharf, London. 140 more words