Her name is The Humanities

There has been a lively discussion going on over at Varieties of Unreligious Experience touched off by Conrad’s post Humanism and the virtue of anxiety. My mind, degenerate and poorly oiled as it is, could not help but take a particularly delightful exchange to its ultimate conclusion (pictured above through the miracle of photoshop). Rather than catastrophically lower the level of discourse there, I thought I’d post my addition where it could do no such harm- here.

09.20. filed under: ideas. misc. play.


Hey! That’s my Lily!

Seriously: the Humanities have to be loved violently and even angrily, jealously, sadistically, sarcastically, and equivocally.

posted on 09.20 at 05:42 PMConrad Roth


For some reason, I am reminded of what Allen Gisberg said about poetry: that the human race was toast, and all poetry could do was ease the pain. Sorry bout that.

posted on 09.20 at 06:25 PM.


@Conrad: Yeah, sorry about the proximity of Lily to these proceedings. I felt guilty pushing the pixels. I kept thinking, “poor Conrad is going to read about a face getting the flesh petted off and have to think of his lady the whole time!”

“Seriously: the Humanities have to be loved violently and even angrily, jealously, sadistically, sarcastically, and equivocally.”

Well, I’ve got a good handle on the “angrily, jealously, sarcastically, and equivocally.” Now if only I could ratchet-up my sadism a bit…

@Tom: So poetry is a delicious salted creamery butter. I can live with that.

posted on 09.20 at 06:56 PMjmorrison

return to the front page