#peter addor

[philosophiesde]

Guest article by Peter Addor: “On truth and reality”

The guest article published here comes from the keyboard of Swiss mathematician Peter Addor, who recently wrote an essay entitled “Is there anything beyond space and time?”. The new article also comes from his very readable blog “Traveling through distant lands and scientific thoughts” and I wanted to relaunch it on my site, as I consider the topic it deals with, the connection between “truth and reality”, to be very important.

For a deeper understanding, I would also like to refer once again to my somewhat older essay “The paradigm shift”, which attempts to shed light on this connection between “truth and reality” using the “realism debate”, the “concept of truth” and the “connection between ontology and epistemology” in theory of science. In the comments sections of my site (e.g. in Bernd's guest post on “Solving the riddles of quantum physics”), the connection between “ontology and epistemology” in the philosophy of physics is fortunately often discussed and sometimes even argued about. Sometimes it seems to me that the question is actually “How real is reality?” or, to put it another way, “How much constructivism does reality contain?” or “Will we ever get to the ‘truth of reality’?”.

These are of course a lot of unanswered questions to which I don't have any suitable answers at the moment. However, I intend to take a closer look at this topic in a future, planned essay. Until then, however, I'm pleased that such competent “comrades-in-arms” as Peter are already starting here, so I'll let him take the lead here and shed some light on the topic from a mathematician's perspective. More at: https://philosophies.de/index.php/2024/10/21/wahrheit-und-wirklichkeit/

[sheltiechicago]

A window in Sri Lanka by Peter Addor Via Flickr: On the south coast of Sri Lanka there are still many tsunami ruins, abandoned and crumbling houses destroyed by the 2004 tsunami. They are readily inhabited by various animals, including birds. Here is a window with broken panes and beautiful turnery. Yesterday I have "renovated" it a little in terms of colour.

[lahimself]

Earling morning on the Mawella lagoon. #kolamstudio © Peter Addor (à Sri Lanka) https://www.instagram.com/p/CFfRMpSABTK/?igshid=praa9xawemwb

[fuckyeahseattle]

(via A Bus Station in #Seattle | Peter Addor | Flickr)

[coffin-child]

Things I forgot to post:

I truly thought that some moments had escaped my grasp completely.

Intimate fragments without care or obligation.

The kind where you share little corners of your soul and entrust another human-being to hold them dear for just a short while, with all the sincerity they can truly muster, and you in return, do the same.

My little whore heart used to call it being eclectic.

Looking back now, it wasn’t the sex I craved, but the little pockets of intimacy.

Sharing a tidbit of time with another soul, that would be here and gone within the confines of an evening.

It was about releasing a part of myself to someone who momentarily gave enough of a damn to listen.

It was about even reciprocation.

Its was about collecting these little slivers of fascination and putting them away for a rainy day.

Some of my favorite ones were shared with a tall gangly artist with a tick that made him take pause within a busy sentence.

He drew comics, I met him at some party and cannot recollect how I came to be at his house late at night watching ALF till three in the morning. We would fumble around in the dark on his inflatable mattress to awaken with it sunken in. The lighting from the floor of his room took me to other places, far far away and much more magical. He made the only coffee I would ever drink black, to this day. I would slip it slow, as to savor the understanding of the meaning of adulthood with each wave upon my pallet. A simple breakfast was made as I sat across the counter from his tall figure bumbling around the kitchen, a soft smile erupting from my sleep paralyzed face every time he would hiccup on a word just cause it his mouth couldn't keep up with his heart. He was one of my favorites.

I like moments like these because they steal away into the night just as gently as they came.

You get to adore another human, without falling helplessly inlove. Because love is what makes you want to die.

You bleed yourself dry as you lay every inch of your soul out in hopes that whom you love would want to start up cartography as a hoby, just in a mirrored addoration.

But alas, you hope in vain.

I made my way to some olf forgotten rundown neighborhood in the cover of night. I met him a few years back when I was bartending. Always thought he was cute, but in that Peter Pan kinda way, fun but never to fuck seriously.

He invited me over for dinner and business plans. We took hits of korean beer from colorful little glasses as we shot the shit of how life had been trucken along for the both of us. I perused his anphibian collection and danced aound his livingroom to new music that just just spoke to the souls of my shoes. I checked my makeup and my intensions in the upstairs bathroom which was donned in mermaids, most certainly by the artistic eye of his girfriend, taking note of my judgment in what one would crudely call taste. There was an intricate shuffle of hustle and bustle in the kitchen as he buzzed about preparing a meal the best that he knew how. We spoke of the shittiest times in a twangy country accent as he made the oven mit tell me jokes in the inbetween interludes. I genuinly laughed. He pulled me in and kissed me quick, but with intent, just before the peppers ahd to be washed, and just as quickly he left me in the still of the moment to do so. The main course was served on the kitchen table before dinner ever left the oven. We sat down and eat, so naturally, as if it had been done a hundred times before. Somehow, some way we made it into the livingroom for seconds. It was nice. The comfortablilty of everything . I was stripped naked and didnt think twice about it as I laughed at him shaking a full moon about without a hint of shame.

There was not a care to be had, and I had laughed with a sincerity that I thought had been lost.

These moments are meant to be brief. They bring relief. They remind you that certain parts still work.

That the mundane drudgery of life has reprieve.

Oven mitts that tell me jokes and dissecting synth machines are the things I collect in the palm of my tired hands, for that rainy day I know for certain is bound to come.

[fuckyeahseattle]

(via Hoisting cranes in front of Seattles Skyline | Peter Addor | Flickr)