Working on my ecology & #philosophy book late last night. It occurred to me: since I& #39;m not under any pressure to publish-or-perish, like university profs are, I can write not just any philosophy I like, but I can also write philosophy in any *style*.
So many of the great philosophers of the Western canon were rotten stylists. Nobody reads #Kant for the pleasure of his lyrical prose. Nobody reads reads #BertrandRussell or John #Rawls expecting to be uplifted to heaven.
But Beadrillard, Foucault, Rousseau, Camus, Eco, Barthes, and Berlin: Reading them is like listening to a work of performance art. You can hear them pacing about the room, ranting about something, stopping to smell a flower, then back to ranting again.
Plato has to be read aloud to be understood, accompanied by the syrinx and the lyre, and a generous bowl of wine.

Friedrich Nietzsche is a master stylist-- you read him and you hear Hendrix, Page, Gilmour, Slash, and May. (And Wagner. And-- maybe I better stop there.)
This book I& #39;m #writing is going to be not only a work of logical strength and clarity. It& #39;s going to be a work of unhinged exuberance. I warned you in my first book, "Dangerous Religion", that I write thought-operas, not essays. Well, this one is going to release the kraken.
So put your seatbelts on, people. Because you& #39;re trashing my planet with your climate crisis and your resurgent fascism, and you& #39;re going to hear from me. /end thread.
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