“Mountable curb” entered vocabulary today, though I saw no instances of such a curb, which is not at all the same, of course, as an accessibility ramp. Ought to have learned all such names and distinctions long ago. How could we hope to eat nutritiously without becoming medical doctors and having a vivid picture, made of vocabulary, of all the substances without, and of all the needs within, and of the grammar which explains how these vocabularies can and should syntactically match? Before we can actually do what we want in the world, in terms of vocabulary, we have to turn the world into vocabulary. Only then, with the brain implant there, would we eat nutritiously, for we would know it, we would see it, just as we might form a sentence with our lips.
And similarly how can I walk up an accessibility ramp without knowing it’s name? It hardly seems possible yet I do it —Thus. –or did once. Wasn’t that how Berkelee disproved the philosopher Hume, or rather, wasn’t that how the philosopher Hume disproved the philosopher Berkelee, who said the world was only the imagining of God, by stepping on a stone and saying I disprove it thus, just as I have stepped on an accessibility ramp, without knowing it’s name, as I so often do? (fine but proving what thus?) Is vocabulary the imagining of God? Is vocabulary the evolution of Sound?
“Tightened” curb radius at 36th & Abingdon recalled: this should cause turning cars to slow and reduce instances of pedestrian injury and death. Four nannies or mothers with their children in perambulators: I will step aside, into the street, to accommodate their passage through the narrowing isthmus of branches. What is this grass colored mound at the corner of the lot? Ah, how could I have forgotten, the soil samples they extracted, but how could that spot have already become covered in grass (how long ere a dirt mound grow fuzz?) and the store still standing of course, lasting and indominable, adamantine and indestructible, world’s last immortal Parthenon forever, not a Venetian mortar in sight, on a hill perhaps ten steps high.
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