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Circles in speech and consciousness

Had a random memory insert itself into my awareness, whilst I was sitting. It's the sort of thing that will tend to happen.

It was the same week that my mother died, and I had been staying with my father. I was carrying around an old, beat-up, hardbound copy of "Five Dialogues by Plato" (Jowette translation), which I plumbed for an appropriate word for the funeral oration. I recalled walking around the run-down, far western end of Notre-Dame in Lachine, at night, near one of my father's old apartments. Half of the shop spaces were vacant, and the fanciest place to hangout was the Metro as the end of the road. The business at the nearest corner was a junk-shop, overflowing with knock-off furniture and, well, junk. It was the sort of place where one knew a misplaced cigarette would set the whole place up in a blaze, and take half of the street with it. A little down the way and across the street was a tiny, somewhat depressed-looking park with a raised stage. Across from that was the bench that I would sit on, underneath a streetlamp.

I recall that I didn't find anything in the Phaedo or Symposium that seemed succinct and appropriate. In the end, I went with a poem by Rumi.

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