I had this dream last night: Socrates was telling me about beauty. I could see that Socrates himself was not beautiful–that in fact he looked like an old boxer with a badly healed nose. Because I tend to think in dreams I wondered who broke Socrates’ nose. Was it an Athenian guard or did Plato do it? When I woke up I found that I was troubled by this dream-like nose, the Socratic proboscis.
I shall endeavor today to rid myself of Socrates’ nose, his oneiric busted beak. And good luck to me in this art, for if Plato was correct the ruined nose is a creation of the gods.
Why would the gods break Socrates’ nose while I slept? Surely they can’t still be jealous of this human quest for truth and beauty after 2000 years?
Oh what a nose that was.