July 4, 1965: Michael Palmer (Brother), Martha Palmer (Mother),
James Palmer (Brother), and me
After a talk on “The Art of Persuasion” in Denver, I’m visiting my brother and sister-in-law and their family. A cousin had scanned a number of old family photos, many of which were at the same time sad to see (most of the people in them are dead) and delightful to see. The above, sadly without my father (who was taking it) in it, was from a memorable Independence Day.
Are you the little tyke or the bigger one?
A happy clan.
Hi, Ryan,
Our mother is in the middle, with Michael to her right and Jim to her left. I’m in the front (or, put another way, the boy who slowly became me is in the front).
Ah. That was my guess. What a cute and happy little boy you were!
…
For the past few months Heidegger has been occupying my mind. I recall Mike Ri telling me last summer that you were looking into him. I hadn’t read him at that time but it was as if I had (man as fish out of water, dwelling in language, pure being equaling pure nothing, and all that). What a psychotic, though! What a dead-on psychotic!
A Berkeley friend once said, “Heidegger ruined my life.” I’d just say he liberated me through strangulation.
Realizing that no matter how much we increase our technological understanding of the world we won’t have a better answer for what it means to be brings me to releasing laughter.
Plus Kant had exacerbated my immaterialist tendencies and I needed someone to force me into understanding that I’m a terrible there-being!
(I hope that you can still find thinkers to help you soar higher into the icy heights.)