(no subject)

The problem of God: What if what others say is true?
The problem of Evil: What if I'm in danger?
The problem of Free Will: What if I'm mistaken?
The problem of Ethics: What will I feel bad about later?
The problem of Death: How can I get all this done?

(no subject)

A knowledge of what something is like is still a knowledge. If we talk this way, though, we need to immediately leap a terminological hurdle: To know exactly what something is like is to be experiencing it, presumably. So what you remember of things you've done repeatedly or that sank into your being from their singularity is a different kind of knowledge, presumably a partial knowledge abstracted or decayed from the full knowledge at the point of occurrence.

But there are close to exact knowledges, where the outline or form is retained and the full content, returning as you experience some repetition of the known event, gives you more of a sense of appropriateness than surprise.

To know that something happens; to know what it's like when something happens; to know a happening something.

Literature is about reminding. It is a form of memory practice. When you remember properly you're accessing a lot more than what happened. You're accessing how to keep it happening, how to unpack other happenings from it, how to fill holes in your satisfaction or understanding with rememberable--memberable--things. The how is the doing it, as with anything too complex to teach by telling. Though of course the teaching is also a telling. To show a tell is to tell how to tell; and how to show the tell etc.

But once shown the tell is both tell and show. Do you see? Once shown, at least, to the point of seeing.

(no subject)

"A certain experience of the impossible."

V./+

"Where everybody knows your name."