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St. Jerome, The Gettysburg Address, Inside-Out Pockets, and a Latinate Zeus: The Art of Mulling

A number of folks have asked recently: Why Dies Iovis:Ergo…? I assume they’re referring to the name of this blog and not why I would waste even one minute writing this stuff. If the question is to the latter, let’s just say I’m trying to wrestle with a few impo
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Driving Miss Daisy in Austria, the Umlaut in Noë, and Saggers: Bodies and All-Terrain Vehicles

I left off last week with a Cartesian Square Dance – body in a Texas Do Sa Do with the mind’s tune. So,…what about bodies? And what do bodies really have to do with minds? Okay, hang on,…no rolling, center up those eyeballs. I’m trying to make this fun. I know it req
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Good Beaches, Palladian Villas, and Lyle Lovett: Square Dancing with The Terrible Master in Borges’ Attic

I live in my own mind Ain’t nothin but a good time No rain just the sunshine Out here in my own mind… L.P.L. A few weeks back (see DI:E…01.03.13), I wrote about the difference between minds and brains. This week’s topic is once again about the inside of oneR
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The Little Drummer Boy and The Secretary of State: A Quest for Grace & Spiritus

Last week in Dies Iovis: Ergo…I mentioned The Sound of Music. Big mistake. My Favorite Things…don’t even go there. Besides the stuck tune, I’m sure, by now, you know how I feel about “Things” (if not, see DI:E…10.25.12). In truth, I like the s
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Riding the Single Chair: Confessions of The Unsociable

Last week I wrote about Robespierre, The Incorruptible (DI:E…01.03.12). This week, it’s Me, The Unsociable. Riding the Single Chair…sounds like it could be either a Zen kōan or something from Vātsyāyana’s Kama Sutra, don’t you think? I do. But here I̵
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Robespierre & Zebras on the Road to Damascus

Last week I wrote about placing one’s bet on what is real and what is not,…and sticking with it. Of course, by real, I meant what is important to you, what is worth believing in, fighting for, persuading others to get on board with, etc. After all, what could be more real
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Pascal’s Wager, Sartre’s Bet, and The Santa Claus Gamble

Each December, young parents must face one of the great metaphysical dilemmas of all time…well, at least, of recent times,…that is, of recent Judeo-Christian,…ok, Christian…never mind. The point is this: Sleigh bells are ringing off the hook and your little darling leans up, sof
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Is That You?: Exquisite Corpses, Character Flaws, and Thinly Disguised Wing Nuts

Earlier I wrote about bookstore readings and the difficulty facing the author when his or her book is written in the first person (DI:E…11.29.12) – when the “I” who reads from the book is the “I” who wrote the words that the “I” speaks in the book.
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Jean-Frédéric Waldeck, Noble Savagery, and Upstate New York

Two photographs flank a painting here. One photo is taken from our place in upstate New York and the other from our place in New York City. I show them not to shout out our real estate holdings (…guess where we’re rent-stabilized), or to contrast Walden Pond with Thoreau’s swampy Civi
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Pushing a Cart at the Center of the Universe: an inflationary theory smack down

For spurned writers, the agents who passed on their novel are easy targets for post‑factum ridicule. The rejection letter looms large, and it takes an even larger fellow to just…well, just get over it. I am one such fellow. No,…really. A concern for “commercial viability&#
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