Outerlands, a restaurant review

Someone suggested that I look down as I walk, and not look straight ahead as is commonly thought to be best practice when walking, that I would see more walking this way.

Looking down as opposed to looking up, the difference between fear and anguish: fear as the fear of something and anguish as the fear of nothing, of not giving some meaning to the world and so losing oneself (as delineated in Gombrowicz's A Guide to Philosophy in Six Hours and Fifteen Minutues).

The finite, not the infinite, defines me, gives me all I need, more than I need, contrary to what I was once led to believe, that life is infinite and a reflection of a God who knows nothing of death and a Savior who demonstrated God's will by demonstrating his dominion over the physical.

At this point what I can't imagine is what God is, good or evil.

The only thing I can see lately is the surface I tend to look down on or am able to apply pressure to. I'm more able to accept a thing that I can't see through to the end, and to almost delight in its mystery.

As I wait for my grilled cheese sandwich at Outerlands on Judah and 45th, the floor beneath my feet is an unpremediated literature of meaning, and the sandwich itself is more than worth waiting for.