Walter wrote
That is a somewhat troubling reminder, Robert. I am already 60. And
believe
Witters and I led a similar kind of life: philosophizing at every
displaying undue extravagance with money, having to climb 3 flights of
stone stairs to reach one's domicile over a period of many years, cavorting
with Russians, and eating way too much cheese. Worse, I doubt I will be
laid to restin the vicinity of any Wisdom.
I answered
Fret not, Walter. I was born in 1931. (You could look it up.) Yesterday,
while looking for some for some forgotten lore, I discovered that it
(yesterday) was the anniversary of Wittgenstein's birth. No one seemed to
be sponsoring mock jousts on the Back Lawn, at King's College. No townsfolk
were whistling Bach's Chaconne for the Left Hand, on the Front Court. That
the birthday of Zane Gray, author of 'The Young Forester,' is a national
holiday, yet the birthday of the author of 'Remarks on Colour,' passes by
each year, like field mouse, not shaking the grass, is something the
descendants of the Apostles, should bring before the World Court, and damn
soon immediately.
My friendly historical reminder that it (April 26) was Wittgenstein's
birthday, raised in one brain, a need to publicize his view that I had 'made
a career out of a personality cult, which [he] knew already.' He later went
on to ask snidely, why I didn't (or hadn't) noted the birthdays of Stalin,
Mao, Richard Nixon, Dick Cheney, and Margaret Thatcher—I may have added a
name or left one out, but whether I've got the list quite right, the
same implicating stench clings to them all. Wittgenstein = Stalin, and
Betty Hutton = Mata Hari. There's not much more you need to know if your
beliefs happen to be true. But If they happen to be simultaneously both true
AND false, it might be best to start over
Robert Paul
