Mannnn I'm trying to write right now and it feels terrrrrible.
Not that I dislike writing. It feels fun to write right now in this blog.
But my writing just sounds so terrible to me. I am doing bad writing.
I'm trying to write about The New Leviathan and I don't understand why it is so difficult.
It has turned out to be a much more pivotal moment in my reading through Collingwood than I thought it would be. I don't know why, but I didn't think that TNL would occupy my thinking so much. I thought for some reason the stuff in The Idea of History, An Autobiography, The Idea of Nature, The Principles of Art, and The Principles of History would occupy me the most.
I guess I just didn't see TNL coming. This bizarre political treatise. So elusive in its purpose. So suspect in its context. The question: Is this the book of a dying man? The answer is definitely yes. But does that detract from it? What does it say about it?
It means it might be hasty. Might be shrill.
Someone described An Essay on Metaphysics as shrill. I thought it was interesting.
There certainly is something fierce and desperate in the late Collingwood. But I don't think shrill sounds right.
But boy howdy am I struggling on writing about The New Leviathan. I think I should just push it all out and see what is there. Puke out a bunch of stuff without concern for its coherence or order. Then I can sort it all out later. Because I'm definitely not able to sort it out in my head.
Gotta externalize this stuff.