12,000 Pound Valences of the Dialectic
Forget all that nonsense about theses, antitheses, and syntheses (especially), about sublation or transcendence, or becoming. It simply won't do.
For this is what the dialectic looks like.
[Abolition meets itself in the middle and roars up, in joined friction, much like skyscrapers, leeches, libido, and lithospheric plates. Like meat trains mid-collision. It is not pretty. If there was a "third," it would come on horseback, from out of the blue. It would be bearing harpoons. But the only third in sight is the area where the water hits the sand, for it is the scene of this encounter, and it is marked, however muddily, however quickly the traces will be abolished.]
Elsewhere, the beach is quiet. Some asshole is snapping pictures.
I.E.: fleshy dialectics