The Confused Are Who Is?

of Maxwell Clark

I cannot attend to this already once uncountable ambiance of events anymore than this expression is a trace of how I do so. No more or less than this is how I am who did this so. If many social others are also of this, I cannot yet render the proper authority of my signature upon it as otherwise than an unique obligation. Who is this but myself expressed transcendentally of the same by an otherwise unlimited array of transcendentally exterior influences? If I cannot sincerely attend this Other into my nervous focus, nor thus conceptually adumbrate any of the least ramifications of its transcendental exteriority—this is because it adumbrates the totality of my being as one among its own finite ramifications instead—this exteriority exceeds the horizon of my being, thus also in-forms (e.g., inward formalizes) it.