Watering Floridi’s Roses

There are no roses, but that is the point.

…and in trying, aspiring, in reaching out and making a purpose – or a difference – where there is (demonstrably) none we find ourselves reweaving a semantic tapestry from the bare mechanism and engineered fact of brute (-forced) realism. (Shannon excluded meaning from Information Theory because the complexity is exponential, not because it wasn’t there or important but because it exists outside the bounds and grammar within which we might ever aspire to control or know – in the realm of un-knowing, of apophatic inversion and direct, visceral experience.)

If we are left with so many empty facts, binary switches and referential markers, this was never a loss so much as the freedom to draw the abstractions, the hyper-inflating referential, combinatorial spaces that blossomed in our minds, and there – no less real than the impossible orchids of the complex (number) plane – altered, but still present in their absence.

There’s the rub: some truths and proofs are so utterly indirect, diffuse and distributed across the entire surface of their manifestation, this metaphorical garden of philosophy (or is it life[?], the differentiation being constitutively Academic), that the art and act of aspiration becomes it’s own value and meaning.

Context: On taking care of the roses

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