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This report is taken from PN Review 184, Volume 35 Number 2, November - December 2008.

Ten Sane Postcards from His Last Philosphical Madhouse Frank Kuppner

Our fate as human beings (if such, Diogenes, or Doug, is what we truly are) is to be able to achieve whatever it is we actually manage to do. (After all, if insects can exist then anything can exist.) Almost exactly likewise, the Cosmos contains more double galaxies than it does old boots - (whether of the left or the right. Such a curious if exciting lack of respect, Adamn!)

Father? (No.) Mother? (No.) How could any 'pure accident' connect to the actual, physical world? After all, if it does connect, then by this very fact it cannot be a 'pure accident'. And if there is no Puppeteer anywhere, then clearly there can be no puppets. (Besides which, my darling, surely any strings must be part of the marionette too?)

Just because something is inaccurate doesn't necessarily mean it's a poetic truth. (Not even a minor one.) Nor, for that matter, is it a religious or spiritual truth either. Despite that, I believe but cannot prove that I have a large, invisible spear (not 'spine' - and certainly not 'penis') sticking mysteriously and uniquely out of my much belaboured (beloved?) head. (No. Not 'spine', obviously.)

First, and absolutely, the Universe doesn't. Second (but first too), things change without exception and the rates of change alter with them. Where is the other problem? (After ...

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