I am sure about one thing:
humanity is not composed of isolated beings
but of a communication between them.

Never are we revealed, even to ourselves,
other than in a network of communication with others.
We bathe in communication,
we are reduced to this incessant communication
whose absence we feel, even in the depths of solitude,
like the suggestion of multiple possibilities,
like the suggestion of the moment
when it will solve itself in a cry heard by others.

In ourselves human existence is nothing but consciousness
which is at last shared
between the impenetrability
of ourselves and that of others.

-excerpt, Literature and Evil, Genet, by Georges Bataille, p. 170

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This post is for Nancy.

Nancy is a friend with whom I have dialogued for over twenty years on many topics of philosophy.  Yesterday we exchanged a series of emails questing for a connection, a completed circuit of exchange on the topic of appearance, in contrast to a durable core, that which we label “reality.”

I contended that appearance, the ephemeral, evanescent: of light/sight, aromatic molecules in air/smell, the tactile surface-to-surface touch, auditory of music and of speech, the delicate nuance of taste – is the sum total of what is available to us.  Those appearances/manifestations are never fixed, always transforming…

If I understood Nancy’s position I believe she contended for those sensory clues as indicators of the meaning of the subject/agent that supports a given complex of appearances, a what-you-see-is-what-you-get realism.

I could be wrong in my assessment.  In our struggle to communicate we worked to “get at” what is important to each.  Did we succeed or did we fail?  On my side of the matter, we did not succeed because it seems as if more needs to be said.  Yet, we did not fail.  I was provoked to a better understanding of Nancy, and of myself.

We bathe in communication.

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Is there is song for a very windy Saturday?  Indeed this one by Ryan Adams is what we need:

New York, New York

Well, I shuffled through the city on the 4th of July
I had a firecracker waiting to blow
Breakin’ like a rocket who makin’ its way
To the cities of Mexico
Lived in an apartment out on Avenue A
I had a tar-hut on the corner of 10th
Had myself a lover who was finer than gold
But I’ve broken up and busted up since

And love don’t play any games with me
Anymore like she did before
The world won’t wait, so I better shake
That thing right out there through the door
Hell, I still love you, New York

Found myself a picture that would fit in the folds
Of my wallet and it stayed pretty good
Still amazed I didn’t lose it on the roof of the place
When I was drunk and I was thinking of you
Every day the children they were singing their tune
Out on the streets and you could hear from inside
Used to take the subway up to Houston and 3rd
I would wait for you and I’d try to hide

And love won’t play any games with me
Anymore if you don’t want it to
The world won’t wait and I watched you shake
But honey, I don’t blame you
Hell, I still love you, New York
Hell, I still love you, New York
New York

I remember Christmas in the blistering cold
In a church on the upper west side
Babe, I stood their singing, I was holding your arm
You were holding my trust like a child
Found a lot of trouble out on Avenue B
But I tried to keep the overhead low
Farewell to the city and the love of my life
At least we left before we had to go

And love won’t play any games with you
Anymore if you want ’em to
So we better shake this old thing out the door
I’ll always be thinkin’ of you
I’ll always love you though New York
I’ll always love you though New York, New York, New York

Lyrics by Ryan Adams