i don't have my memory card reader and i'm just kind of idling on pussycat time, 
the dreamtime induced by a nearby orange cat on a double orange cushion dreaming 
in the sun on the radiator table overlooking the sky.  
reading fragments of margorie perloff on wittgenstein, like this:   
my propositions are elucidatory in this way: he who understands me finally recognizes them as senseless, when he has climbed out through them, on them, over them. 
(he must so to speak throw away the ladder, after he has climbed up on it.)- ludwig wittgenstein.  
i love that. and i love what it summons up in my mind- the image of george's ladder. when i and my brother lived on bicayne bay, a fellow burst out of his apartment in a drunken sleep, routinely, running into the courtyard yelling about the green flood coming. he saw it so clearly in his alcohol fueled terror sleep it shaped his waking life in the form of a great ladder he constructed in order to reach the top of the royal palm 
outside the archway.  
all the palms at that time were topless though, denuded by some palm blight, so he would have been sitting atop a fifty foot curved pole when the green wave came.  
the more immediate problem was he couldn't get the ladder through the aperture to reach the palm, and when he tried, in the wee hours, in his white underpants, 
he wailed and tried and finally sat down by his ladder and cried. 

that's what i think of, and the image that rises, when i think of wittgenstein's ladder.  
i would like to thank george, if i could, for his dream, his dream construction, 
and for how his ladder now leans to with ludwig's in my green mind.