sometimes I think myself into a place where all preconfigured systematic knowledge, from scientific rationalism to dogmatic theology and everything between, seems as though to only obscure the infinite variability of pata/metaphoric mythopoesis. so like, maybe the idea that the universe is however many billions of years “old,” maybe that’s only a metaphor and all thinking consequential to premises so ignorant of their own abstraction will never overcome its blindspots. it’s all stories, is what I think I’m saying.
which isn’t to suggest that metaphor is “bad” or that clear literary thinking ought to focus, Iowa-workshop-style, on Things and Senses. I do not write “concrete/literal” alt-lit blah blah blah, because we still can’t be sure we’re not the butterfly in the dream.
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