i cannot believe that this is what is coming out of this summer alone but there it is:  i am contemplating going back to philosophy, resuming my identity as intellect, trying to convince myself that this sudden repatriation does not constitute a diversion from art practice, or not merely that. i think want to go back and get a masters in aesthetics, which should be a simple matter of writing a thesis, if it’s possible to do at all.  i haven’t the heart at present to outline for you the road that seems to have led me from the abd ph.d to this pass, for those of you who are following along out there (except for you, faithful nancy, who was there; i continue to be indebted to all that you do) but it seems that this is becoming the case: ex nihilo aliquis sunt.  as i commented elsewhere:

i am starting the idea by thinking, for the next 4 weeks i have left (just under 4,) about one of the incompletes i would need to dissolve, this one by writing a paper on kant.  who’s kant again? transcendental wha?

but progress has been made this morning by 1) identifying the book i imagine need to read; 2) perceiving its possible resting place among the 5,000 volumes to be in one of many boxes, if anywhere, and therefore unavailable; 3) amazoning the title even amidst my own disgust at the contemplation already of further redundant purchase before i even begin this questionable quest; 3) amazon parenthetically informing me that the work in question is also anthologized in the great books set published the year i was born and, therefore, miraculously to hand in a still-standing bookcase in the newly mined study; 3) perusal of said text leading me to footnotes that point to the text i actually should be writing about, and; 3) so i am begun.

3: RTFM, fool; it seems the omens are in place after all.