Thursday, February 29, 2024

Robert M. Pirsig Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance


 The language we’ve inherited confuses (this). We say “my” body and “your” body and “his” body and “her” body, but it isn’t that wayThis Cartesian “Me,” this autonomous little homunculus who sits behind our eyeballs looking out through them in order to pass judgment on the affairs of the world, is just completely ridiculous. This self-appointed little editor of reality is just an impossible fiction that collapses the moment one examines it.


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