So I am an idealist who hates idealism; a practical man who hates the blindness of pragmatism, a poor hungry confused child who holds the stone in both hands while before him stands the cold reality that he is on his own if he wants to eat.
In my life of labor and endless searching for connections, I sometimes pause to muse over the people I love, the natural and artificial world around me, and the ideas that provoke my imagination or ire.
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