asclepius

Socrates’ final words in Crito carry the weight of both an ending and a promise. Right before taking the hemlock, he reminded Crito to sacrifice a rooster to Asclepius. It’s a curious farewell, as though death itself were a kind of healing—an escape from the sickness of life. There’s something intimate in the gesture, a quiet obligation fulfilled, like returning a borrowed book long after it was due.

I once wrote a book about Benjamin. I read parts of it some fifteen years later, only to discover that it was poorly written, that most of the ideas in it were rushed, and that the subject was off.

Four years ago, I wrote some 40 pages of what I think is a better book. I still owe a book to Benjamin.