Another Kind of Footnote, or, Indeed, Main Text: Farewell to Daddy.

I was elaborating my pure pleasure paper for publication as I heard that my father had passed away in my mother's arms, that Friday morning after Easter, devoted to Ζωοδόχος Πηγή in the Christian calendar. In the evening beforehand we were bursting in laughter while anticipating our walk that was bound to follow after two weeks, had it not been hindered by the uninvited guest, death. (Dear Plato, do not try to convince me this was a false pleasure; sometimes I block dialogue, pardon me).

I completed some kind of hairsplitting activity and wrapped up the article while making my case for the very special experience of temporality in pure pleasure. And then I turned the page: From pleasure pure from pain I turned to the mixed emotions of mourning and packed my things, or rather they packed themselves: all of a sudden remotest memories with my father came out of their shells and accompanied more recent experiences. 

In Athens, relatives, friends and I accompanied the dead body of my dearest darling, who was freed from all the heavy bodily sufferings of the last years. I did not cry at the funeral. Mostly I was smiling, stunned by the economy of time, the moments of which were falling like ripe pieces of grape in our hands. Unable to see through the whole, we admired how the small pieces fell into their right place, one by one, and one after the other. I tried not to make a sound, but to observe with care and patience, and strengthen my love.

My work on pleasure is perhaps the one I have been mostly interested in and devoted to so far, and this for many reasons, going beyond philosophy. So let it be dedicated to the one who has most fervently supported me in all my steps.

Migrating Monarch Butterflies, somewhere between Ontario and Mexico.

And one of the many butterflies, these not fond of crowds, in Messinia, June 2014.

PS: The more I delve into the notion of pleasure, the more interested I become. My pure pleasure theory is spreading all over the place. Or, to put it differently, I am perfecting Plato's pure pleasure, and moving from Plato to Aristotle. Thereby I stubbornly stick to my making a fuss about the fundamental dimension of time. Mostly I am attracted to pleasures' (and inevitably pains') incomparability: quite anti-Utilitarian, no surprise to me.