"awe of the mystery and the tryannny of desire..."

Gotta love the New Yorker (at least I am, and do)...

Most seem to have given up on the magazine after Tina Brown left, but I have no basis for comparison, having come into really knowing the magazine since then...this recent week's issue had some wonderful writing it in, as usual. The quote above is from one of the articles, I don't remember which, but does it matter anyway? Great lucid crafted coherent poetic fine writing is eternal, is it not? It's words put into a Platonic eternal form of beauty; stories, our written craft, formed shaped labored over is as solid of shape when it emerges and when it is jointly and commonly read - whoa! watch out! that's when it becomes really good, specifically good, calling to many who uphold the memory of the form in their minds - seeing it again in the shape of a story in our language, a metaphor crafted together, making up an eternal form.

(By Jove, I think I may be on to something here) - maybe our LANGUAGE, like a spoken and written symbol is a Platonic form. Like a meta-symbol, because I can already hear an argument that says there are too many specifics and details and such to make, or decide, how much of a story (filled with a gazillion individual stories) is going to make up one form - but it's the meta form that makes language become Platonic - not the small individual words.


Something certainly to contemplate.