reallynotnuttin

2011-12-06T14:10:00.001-08:00

Well blogy, the term ended well, if not shenaniganly, with Her, whom I really do think myself properly to like. To wit, I have been, this slow and lazy, cold day, spent incamerated, dozy reading, thinking on her, and smiling, remembering that which she did. A genuine like for her qua person as opposed to someone of whom I can say, to myself or to others, that she's my girl. It's perhaps a bit annoying that Christmas comes, and thereby a month's separation, but well. I live in some sort of hope that things could be good for me, in the year that is to come.

2011-12-01T11:29:00.001-08:00

And so, life, thou comest around with thy vital ways, and december is upon us, the days darkling at noon, the new cold unexpected and bracing, and the still point in this turning world Watt academically dwells. And this still point hopes to have a date on Saturday, the third with the girl, and he hopes to eat and watch and maybe, just maybe, get somewhere. But he is nothing if not a philosopher, and induction, with its brute main force over our ideas, associates ill with the transition: Watt has a date, so it will go well. And associates big with the transition: Watt has a date, so it will go bad. But there is a fact, as there was two years hence in MC's, in her cerebellum - and hereafter let her be only Her - and it may be as tristful as MC's. But then so it is. The new year brings new opportunities. But if it isn't, you, Watt, are to have to nerve to get through to another, whom you like. Let us see how Saturday, which I am investing with value, goes. I will try.

2011-11-21T07:35:00.001-08:00

Getting with the modern world and trying blogging from my phone, so ignore the odd pseudonym, there is an explanation but it is not an interesting one. Anyway, the motivation for this little post is the angst consequent on trying to predict the behaviour of others, specifically.my new beliked, whom i predicted would text me tonight but who probably won't. That other people are just so darn inscrutable, that i'm trapped in piddling obsessions over nothing, that i am not liked, or, if liked, unable to determine this. Being with others is just darned difficult. Let's see what happens.

2011-11-15T12:08:00.001-08:00

Ah, il corpo lasso e un poco triste, ma non so perche; non, so. This is liable to be a bit angsty ( so what else is new amirite? hmm, been reading ed a bit often, tho not so much that I actually use 'amirite' properly, evidently). I was darned wrong anyway in the previous post, we went out, it was nice, but around the world turns, I still would like some unambiguous sign, that would comfort. But, I guess that's not how things go. The fact of my having to go thru each time the anxious woe of uncertain asking; that she doesn't remonstrate greater, isn't more communicative. I ALWAYS FEEL LIKE I'M BOTHERING HER. But she's given no indication of this. So it's probably I'm thinking ill. This is a pretty awful entry, entertainmentwise. I do apologise, my humble reader.

2011-11-11T11:35:00.001-08:00

Ah well, they do say, isn't it, that history repeats itself, and history is repeating itself, namely the history pattern - roughly speaking - of first approaching then being rejected by a first approaching then withdrawing shy person, with the horrendum dictu result that I remain as lone as ever. But well, fuck it into oblivion, least I know, least I tried.

2011-10-30T14:41:00.000-07:00

Well blogy, a date with a girl this friday past. Went pretty well, I think. We went to the theatre, thereafter walked thru the town for like 1.5 hrs, talking. I like her; but she's shy, and it's very hard to see how things will develop. Nevertheless, I'ma try, but I'm hampered by schedule for a while. I'm wondering whether I should conversationally text her, whether she'd like that or find it bothersome. Will try anyway, and try to arrange to see her again. If she should say 'no', then so be it. I don't need to push it with her, I'm not to be horrid obsessed like she with whom this blog began in earnest, MC, the now shadow being. I fear however I fall into the pattern of choosing non-expressive girls, whom I must then chase, and whom's then nonremonstration denotes ambiguously either shyness or uninterest, and how the devil to tell?

2011-10-20T12:11:00.000-07:00

What a - calender - week. Postclass coffee with my new beliked, 5 course meal. Day off. A few hours marking in new home w/ new beliked, 5 course meal in evening. First time ever on the teaching side of a class, under- prepared and slept: didn't go great; frantic attempt to finish essay all day. Finish essay in morn, classes, walk, in the newly minted winter 7 dark w/ beliked. A supermarket. She doesn't like pasta. Outside supermarket, I ask the girl out. She says yes! I retrace my steps back thru the town, smiling, stopping off to urinate in a shopping centre. Morning; criticism of essay, valid but annoying. The fear that I can't manage this work; that I'm not as good as I thought I was. A temporary postponement of date for scheduling reasons, from this weekend to next, leaving this weekend mawful. Anxiety thereabouts. Then the realisation, camped tired on the floor: this is life, the fear that one can't manage, professionally, socially, the hopes that one can and will. This little cloud of being prior to inevitable death. I live, I test myself; I just need now patience, I will continue, in the silence you don't know, I will go on, I will go on.

2011-10-10T14:32:00.000-07:00

oh lord.maybe 12 days in, and dire, drunk, despairful; will liver and psyche survive this? How tempting, to cease upon this night w/ no pain. The LOST ost, that speaks to that pain that's infinite, that's hopeful. And a mother zu hause, durchgeleidet. And one day, ofc, I will be dead; and let's hope that day's soon. No, that's too harsh. But imagine, you can tell in an instant that certain people aren't going to fit into the academia; you can tell to, let's hope not, that people aren't going to fit into people. Always to be alone? Can I even contemplate that? Let's note that since I began this blog I have not had a girlfriend, and that having a girlfriend was the one thing I have sought.

That one can sustain, sober, a sort of minimal level of being, that one can walk the streets and run errands and smile shyly at people whom one's awkwardness awkwardizes; that one can drip, in a darkening 4 pm, in a mislocated argos buying a lamp, waiting, 11 minutes of life here in an aloneless that's among; and then walk home, and the vague animal thoughts that accompany the journey, that the rain makes bothersome.

And you sneer, slightly, that the rain discomfits, and you think of the pellucid lies that you can tell of what you did, and pray for monday, coz empty friday, empty sat'day are far hence, and everybody hates monday so you, hating everyday, are accidentally normal. No, not hating everyday.

And yeah, this is silly, but YOU, sober Watt, reading this; as read this you will - because you will sober and rue this - and you will library and lie, and spend next weekend beastly alone

2011-09-23T08:49:00.001-07:00

Ah disappointment, the appointment one must keep at Dis redoles quiet this friday late afternoon. Well - and I know to what extent this is eerily familiar- internet gal has stopped writing , although I'm not overly perturbed thereby, and I have just received negative news re my otherwise outstanding academical career, which two pieces of information, or rather certain thoughts in the vicinity of the former, namely my constant failure blabla, have conspired with a lapse in willpower to leave me slightly unsettled. But the key is here of course to get back upon the meditative horse, to realize that set-back is merely the fret upon one's soul that makes it sound, that it is metaphysically necessary that where there is life, there is suffering. That these sufferings are different for different people; that before a to be enjoyed dinner is a to be enjoyed future, and that I should now briefly work to restore calmness and equianimity in myself.

2011-09-18T11:26:00.001-07:00

Well blogy, it's that hour quand l'homme - cet homme - est las de manger camembert, and who knows of what la femme is, and so the former which breaks his silence, partly to speak of the spectral latter, who is both the femme archetype, and also yet another watt girl, to join the baleful list detailed below.

Which is a paragraph, ruminative, trochaic, intended to - as portentously as possible - sketch the argument of no doubt the coming months, namely that I go abroad in 1 1/2 weeks, in search of love and knowledge, to a reputed university, and am talking to a girl on dating website living 58 miles thence, whom i've been emailing i think for 3 weeks. She is: .... I hesitate, for to say of someone, that they are F G and H is to categorise reductively, to judge, to limit. She is a living walking waking human being, with a past and a future full of potholes and scenery, a human being goddamnit and not an idea thereof, tho perforce it's only ideas i've so far or human beings ever ( more pessimistically) come into contact with. And I think I'm prone more than most to paralysis of choice, which is perhaps easier than the fear consequent on the making of a choice. I need to remain, whatever this should happen to mean, open to the other.

Yes, I need to remain open in general, body posture wise, experience wise. I am going to be undergoing an interesting change soon; living further from home, and able, crucially, to make a new start, socially, since at my last uni I started fuck poor, unwilling because unable, unable because unwilling, or neither or both, to socialise. I want to work on my negligible social skills, but I don't think really they're too bad. What I need to learn is how to hold a conversation w strangers. To wipe off the rictus of panic that buggers my CNS in such situations. I think I am at a nice stage whereby if nothing amatory should happen, I will be ok. Obviously, projecting this indefinitely causes heebie jeebies; but there's no reason thus to project.

Anyhow, a long summer has passed; some good intellection, not much else. Still roughly following a buddhist path, trying often unsucessfully to keep unpleasantnesses far hence, of sound mood mind and body. Perhaps I'll keep this blog up; I should.

Written a few weeks I think earlier:

O lebensbaum, o wann sommerlich? Well well well, darling, if I may call you that, it has been a while, hasn't it? Wherein gluehenden coals, burning easy, traversed here and there with the asperities of the hot-coal worker, whose feet burnt scurl reddens, as the face of me reddens when's instantiated nearby the topic of this much awaited blog: sociality.

Let me put that in english. The months have burned away gentle like drowsy embers; but the odd vicious pain, the oh mon dieu who am i, how am I still in my monoautic bla bla bla bla.

Hypothesis: that 'thinking makes it so'. Russell, of course, in his Philosophy of Mathematics of 1903, says something similar. Take the belief that Watt is socially adept. In order to understand this, I must stand in a relation to a proposition consisting of me and socialadeptitude, knitted together by some sort of exemplification relation. But if I and socialadeptitude were thus knitted - o kallifragious thought! - then it seems like I am socially adept, and there's no need for my face to burn when a stranger says 'hi'.

But seriously, folks, could this not be the case? That thinking makes it so. Noel Edmonds wished for a tv show and some other jizz, and by crickey, he got it. NOW I'm no Noel Edmonds, but is there not precisely revealed here THE ESSENCE OF SECULAR PRAYER? Namely just think. Because Noel betokens in english and hebrew 'No God', as of course you know.

Now now; there must be some_ limitations to that which thinking makes so. For it's unlikely I could think that there's no such phenomenon as quanglement, but perhaps that I'm a cool dood, that the ladies want my shit ( so to speak, obviously)?

Radical condensation of the foregoing: I want to find a way to reprogram my brain. Not to find myself in the sputtered argent fields of headiness, of one's brain being tranched by invading chemicals of panic, waving the red flag dermally, "I surrender this social exchange, please back away from me posthaste". Cooly and calmly to breath; to know that others don't give a sainted piss about you, really.

(nice dfwesque illustration of my malady. When I walk, and I walk past somebody, my face tightens up because I feel myself to have an odd face in repose, and am selfconscious thereby. Now a) I probably don't b) It probably is so that when I tighten my face it looks odder als wie zuvor b) Most people aren't such arm tors as to wonder how their face shd look in repose, since they're aware that people don't give a shit about no face-reposey bs).

Now unfortunately this blog's somewhat got away from me, in the exhiliration ( sic) of prose. But it reflects a serious train of thought.

Fuck it, I'll talk some more.

Hypothesis: That one's phobic reactions, tho clearly physiological. AND HERE IT ENDS.

2011-02-18T12:39:00.000-08:00

Ach, du scheissiges blutscheisser. So I gots to - horrendum, given the sequel, dictu - liking another girl, for a couple of weeks, too young for me but I thought reciprocated, only for her to drop, mild und leise, that she'd a boyf, on thursday. I mean, lol. Any large scale thought about the prevalence of unluck of love of me breeds thought of fate. But no, just as is. And this surge of pain i've responded to v badly, w analgesic and hypnotic, and gps, to use an occluded wattic shorthand, and short inhalations and exhalations accompanying me, despaircum. It's a 4 o clock sunday afternoon, and i'm hypnotised, tired and hotfaced, having unsuccessfully tried to dull away the anxiety consequent on drinking coffee and travelling. And this particular vista on a life's not fine: tired and empty, hopeless, in fremder land, specifically without hope of love, as the term gets to wheedling to a close I think the hauptausdruck of this blog must needs once more be coined: I can't go on, I'll go on.

So, my buddhism fails in the path of proper pain, where warming pills dare to tread and deaden. But karma? I think I guess I felt karma would be good if god wouldn't, forgetting karma, in the form where it'll take many lives, perhaps, to get your reward, that is the only form that'll save the phenomena, is just another name for god, that theoretical posit posited to make sense of proper pain.

So what's the plan for the day, the week? I need to get back on to terra firma. Do not, tonight, go gentle into that dulled night, but rage, rather, tho it be dolourous, tho let the senses be somewhat draped, we're no hero, no, no hero. And then tomorrow, you, mache dich mein Herz rein, or'tleast reiner, and eat vegetables, and don't think masturbatory thoughts, and work, and don't dull or live to dull.

***

A few days later...

Well, it's kind of melancholic in my wonted way that I am, this evening. Tho i shouldn't be, really. I have what could be considered a date tomorrow, tho I'd have to imagine it won't be, and she'll be married, or just wanting a friend, and I'll trundle back here sad. But maybe not. And I'm such a spa, I'm almost in exactly the same position i was last term, where there's a normal girl who's unattainable and unsuited to me qua normal, and beboyfriended, and a not so normal girl (potentially) in to me, and I absolutely, positively, cannot mistake the mistake I made last time, of trying to turn the unturnable, and focus on the attainable, whom I think's really special, and perhaps just scarily, unfathomably deep, and funny, and bright, with a really good look. I mean, what's not to like? And moreover I know she'd just be so receptive of who I am, qua alcoholic. And in fact the same pattern recurs in my life, of wanting the unattainable and not the attainable. Can I reverse engineer myself suitably, that the faulty bit of code causing this be corrected?

And look at this, 17 I think occurences of the reflexive pronoun in a small passage, absurd considering that the self doesn't exist, the 'I' doesn't refer. All there is is this evening, and all these simply dumb, empty fantasies that I waste my time on - and I'm somewhat altered, on account of pain - do you really want to know what i've been thinking? Coz it's been truly, truly fucked. I've been thinking of our having sex so I could tell my friend that we had sex; of our having a relationship so other people could think that I was having a relationship. So it's all exteriority, and I'm entirely forgetting this is about another person, that is, and is out there, and is not a mirror of a monadic I, is not constituted by the amatory concepts and erotic forms of the understanding. How wrong do I think? I mean this girl is special, and I guess last term with Polyhymnia, my concern was entirely that MC satisfied the propositional function "I am going out w x" better, qua fact about me. And that's just wrong. So let's think. There's a girl; should I give her a name? Let's say meadow. Right, and she's too young, and just one of those friendly sorts, thus not into me, and moreover normal. But qua normal here company's easy. I need to just excise the possibility, to remove her from my thoughts.

But more than that, I need to just forget about myself. There is this night, where the wind it howleth, and that's all there is. Tomorrow will occur, and think, god damn you watt, take the opportunity to connect to another person and don't be thinking past oneself.

And be nice, and charming, as you can be, and hope that this girl'll be receptive, and if she isn't she isn't. You're improving constantly.

2011-02-02T12:04:00.001-08:00

Things go, as they do. Still hanging on by a thread to the buddhism, but struggling to find the time. There is at least one potential girl option on the cards. Pros: intelligent, funny, perhaps good looking. Cons: not entirely sure, somewhat difficult, somewhat far henceical, I think, like not orbiting the same planets, which I know makes no sense. Had potentially an option to ask her out today which I kind of fluffed, she sort of suggested. I could potentially email her, open up an interaction. Ah, the same problems! WWBD? Well, ponder the matter, but don't over ponder. Just be cool, distant from o\s. When you're going to act, just act. Also, and this can't be stressed enough: right view, right intention, right speech, right action right livelihood right effort right mindfulness right concentration. Had I remembered that today!!!! But no. The task for this eve is just to live in this eve. Sufficient unto the day are the pleasantnesses thereof.

What I learnt today

2011-01-16T14:24:00.001-08:00

So, I went shopping, and one thing that I learnt that I do is that I always try to give the money as quickly as possible, too early in fact for them to receive it, so I then have to retract it, leading to a mild flustering. And what does this betokeneth? Well, obviously that I want to get the fuck out of dodge quickstyle. Allora, tomorrow, or the next day that I need to purchase something, sois brave, o mon couer, et tiens-toi plus tranquille, be the confident, and moreover importantly, remember about this, and so work to change it. I hope that each day I'll be able to make a slight improvement in my social interacting, and perhaps record it herein, which is not any longer to be a tale of love, but of just developing the basic skills required to live. A new project, projecting ahead. Good.

2011-01-15T13:04:00.001-08:00

I've really fallen out of blogging mode of late. Suffice it to say a pleasant but nonfurtheringmyplanforlove christmas occurred and i'm now back at college, at present buddhistly minded, aiming to not care about the social opportunities, or lack thereof, keep addictions - most especially the one to fond fantasizing - far hence, and just try to live, to play what i'm dealt, so to speak. If pain and loneliness should come, then they will come.Remember this moment now, when you feel relaxed, this mild pinch in the belly from hunger, but analgesic, in times of strife to come. There is no cosmos out to get you or not, just abide and endure en hypomene, tho not, let's get this clear, of heaven, but be patient wrt to, quite literally, nothing. There's no guarantee that things'll ameloriate, but you can try. Most importantly, try to be different. Realize that the worst thing that can possibly happen to a person ever is not for another person to think their weird, or gauche, or awkward, and that this non-fact certainly shouldn't make a person, as it has done now, for at the very least 14 years, make like an oscar wilde aphorism and closemouthappear openmouthremovedoubts likes innit. Try to say things, try to bear the eyes on you; engage in conversations which interest you, which is to say conversations about nothing, seinfeldstyle. BE HONEST. I seem to have a sensation that I hide, that I'm desperately concerned about what people - often, by the nature of the thing, complete or relative stranger - think about me. And this is a truly absurd way to be, when you really think about it. So, as it were, court embarassment. Try even getting into random conversations. Smile at girls. Because change is possible, remember that, and keep trying, and you never know, after three months here of decent enough effort, come next year I'll be something akin to a normal person.

2010-12-14T12:07:00.000-08:00

In filestube, somebody googled (filetubed) kyrie eleison. I like to think it was the despairful cry of someone with no-one else to whom to turn, and not just someone looking for christmas music.

I am lonely. Lone-leeeeeeeeee. The word glides off the tongue when it should stick like a cock in the wheels of a bike. The three words, those three words of the English language; fuck the others for whom other three words are the pertinent ones, fuck them in their stinking asses. These are the three, threnodic, galling, abalienating, their to-be-spokenness exuding, an essential property, one I possess in every possible world.

Lonely; and never not lonely. And a disastrous attempt not to be; hope at start of year in PH, whom my lack of preference for whom chased away, from that yclept MC, founder of this blog, who never liked me. But not that: that no one's. Ever liked me. Nor, perhaps, ever will. Possibilities there are not. Just the gut shot of a persevering loneliness, et nunc, et in perpetuum. And would not a graceful God just simply be buggered looking down, at the meal for one industry?

לֹא-טוֹב הֱיוֹת הָאָדָם לְבַדּוֹ

the ipsissima verba.

Can GOD exist, and I alone? Is it possible that I can be so fucking twattish? Can GOD exist, tho life exists? But still: I need to hope, to God, to eutuche, to karma, to the weltgeist, I need to hope to. Give me a chance, send something my way and I won't make you disappointed again. Sad.

2010-12-10T12:30:00.001-08:00

Ah life, you shitty fucking cunt. No, that both oversells and overanthropomorphicizes that hallowed l word. But yeah, the year's over. I remember - I thought I wrote it here - that I thought that year was going to be my year. It hasn't been. That's sad, isn't it? Luckily I'm not too depressed about it, but it's sad. I just feel: why me? Why eternally cut off? I try to be a good person. I tried to improve myself, physically, mentally. But the cause of this was an illusion, an illusion after whom i still pine. A fine year, I guess, not in general completely fucking depressed, but no progress, and a painful rejection. It's not like this for other people etc. etc.

Been sleeping well thanks to pills, at least. FUCK IT. There's next year. That verdant cunt hope bleeds eternal.

2010-11-17T15:10:00.000-08:00

pathemata mathemata. Just revealed to my best friend my traumata, namely alcoholism. Bit of a disburdening, but still, to reveal that shit is shitty. Also, just went to a bar, wherein MC was, drinking, it was awkward, I only went because of the aforementioned best friend didn't want to go alone. The feeling that I just can't fucking banter irritates, being drinkless. I shouldn't have gone, it's just depressing. But I think the plus side is that i'm pretty fucking over her, tho that may've been because she was so evidently not under me. Thus, pain. But: I decided to go, to leap, and hopefully God's purpose was that I do that, to get finally over me. Because in vino veritas, and was revealed in her cups not one jot, nor an iota of feeling for me. So thanks be to God for that disambiguation! And let's hope, as we go forward, that it remains so, that my feelings be dead to her, and I can move on, if not this year, then the next, and that I can jubeln dem hochste Gott. I do feel perhaps, that this was his purpose. And hopefully my feelings herein expressed do accurately express my feelings.

2010-11-14T07:03:00.001-08:00

OK, I'm in. 14\11\10, I profess in full earnestness to follow Jesus Christ. The earnestness of my earnestness jars, but it's needed

That means pistis, elpis, agape. God must exist; suffering is too unnatural, real suffering. It is calm but, and well slept I write this. Let all the critical concerns, at least at present, fall away. Jump in. I am under no illusions; things won't become great. But I need something, mankind needs something. Something is offered, many reliable witnesses inform us of this, and taken, and fucking works. So from now on, it's elpis, it's pistis, it's agape. It's seeing through the suicidal despair, the despair of Abraham, the peculiar psychological state, and having faith that there's an auditor; it's, tho i've been doing this more and more anyway, it's putting myself second, because it's what we're told to do and it's good. Yes, yes. There are no pleurs de joie, no wind battered dark windows, no hunched french bloke in paroxyms. There's sun, and mild anxiety and the fatigue of a flu, but nevertheless a decision properly made.

2010-11-11T06:11:00.001-08:00

Well, I did it. And no. Have been putting off this. I don't want to pore over the details, but a poor night's sleep has made the hurt come back, the deep, deep hurt that arises from the fact that i've never been happy, in the wide sense, that i've never known people, and that there's no reason to believe i ever will. I continue to try on the dating site, to no avail. Why me? Why born into such a family, why lumbered with such shyness? Why always alone and often lonely? Why me?

NO! BY NO MEANS. ME GENOITO. BY NO MEANS; LET IT NOT BE. And like but the thing you have to realize is that my peers are not like me, they don't know the haranging, dismal woe, the howling fantods. But is this not another Why me another drink? That I'm like fucking special, insignis dolore. And you just need to fucking ----- ABIDE, abide in the pain of this 2 o clock afternoon, with the hangover feeling without the pleasure of drinking from sleeping ill, the short sharp shocks of the rejections, of the neverness. Yes! I may be illstarred, I may continue to push against the cages miserable, as if dead, that is cut off in perpetuum from all human contact, but fuck it? Is that the best you can do, universe? No; the universe doesn't care, it's cooly indifferent. Praying, even if there is a God, will not make things improve. Or will it? Do I just need to hold on? I need, right this very moment, to submit, submit to what my life was, is, and will be. MY life. But also like no; If I feel this way about others, that they are wellstarred, I need to say it here. Or do I? And but like the point is that this this, this very moment, this pain, this is mine, this is what i've got, PCDN, by the inexorable workings of the atoms, and the regularities that breed, from shy alcoholic offspring shy alcoholic sons. BUT THIS IS ME. And the fucking GLORY of the human spirit is that it can't go on but does, so, contrary to hypothesis, it CAN. But is this glory or rather the very fucking definition of hell? To be, as Simone Weil'd have it, afflicted, dirempted from God and man, purely alone and suffering, with no admixture of relief now or in the future forseeable ( tho of course it can and may come). To have the heart in you thump in pain, the heart banging Bang of Leben. The stomach in you churn, witnessing the others, whose flesh we can touch, at an - and I don't like to over- and wrongly- use this word, but - infinite distance. Jest. esti. est. (wherein is represented those languages like me, without copulation). I need to get in contact with fellow sufferers, post haste. But I need to accept it. I can take this afternoon's pain, I can abide in it.

2010-11-02T15:37:00.001-07:00

My heart is pounding. For I have decided that tomorrow I am going to tell MC how I feel. My hands are shaking...Well, having known that she was going to be in the library this evening, I just went to return a book, hoping to find her and unburden myself. I didn't find her, but my heart is beating less frantically now. Please, please, let me have the opportunity to say my piece tomorrow. I am of course confident that things will turn out for the worst; she will have a boyfriend, or not see me that way or..., tho I do think it's possible that she certainly did see me that way, in the past. And then I'm going home thurs, so I can dust myself off and return, and return to PH, or perhaps this internet girl, and I can finally, finally be over her. Tho on the negative side, I will finally be over her. It's just like going to the dentist, really, or at least making the appointment. I didn't know what the outcome would be, but I had to do it. It's just with my track record, of not being liked, never no-one in perpetuum. And things'll be soured with someone whom I do really like being around.

But come on, there's evidence. But I fear it could ALL be interpreted as just friendliness; but surely in the past it was something more. So then something would have changed. But it seems that nothing has, in fact, changed. There's touchyfeeliness aplenty. Today I told her my dream, that I dreamt last night, that we were a couple. And she didn't react negatively.

But this is certainly, certainly the rational thing to do. I just have to man up, and, like the dentist, take the pain, in order to be free for the future.

The more I think on it, the more I am certain that it is just friendliness. Her pupils do look pretty big in my company tho. Fuck it, all these thoughts are to no end whatsoever. It's to be done. God, help me to do it.

2010-10-29T14:52:00.001-07:00

Ah man, history is repeating itself. She shows interest, I misinterpret, I make a move, she rejects it. Messaged her re a meet up 2.5 hrs ago; no reply, and when it comes, I doubt it'll be positive. But why does she so overtly seem to flirt with me, only to be cool the next day? I guess I really just need to say no, no longer, I don't want to be caught in the anguish causing games of the end of last year. To give her up. And indeed, logic suggests that if the heart doesn't. But I just like her presence so much. And, well, horrendum dictu, I've taken to drinking alcohol again. May this cup, quite literally, pass from me. I feel incredibly far from God, marred in vice, and a God in whom I barely believe to boot. What is the substance of this 10.30 friday, alone, when messages sent to 2 girls remain unreplied? It occurs that it's halloween, that everyone's everywhere, that I am nowhere. They - MC and PH - may be somewhere. I play scrabble online, mulling, kicking and snorting like a disgruntled mule, heavy with the sound of laughter without.And another can goes down, and it's just so _easy_ to do; it is literally, knocked back, 30 seconds. 3 x 30 seconds and you've got a drunk on, if you're me, and a bad tomorrow on, also. And there's no - well, the first time there were scruples, there was going in and out of the kitchen, picking up and putting down the can. But this - the third time - there is nothing. It is automatic. I stand in the dark kitchen - below my window there seems to be a couple embracing under lights, so I don't turn on my light, lest they look in - fizz the can open and drink deep, as twere my life depended thereon.(And still no message). Then tomorrow'll bring, like today did, the utter shock of the hangover, the sick tired empty anxious low feeling, with which I lived literally eveyday for years. Imagine, dear reader, a good night's sleep. Now imagine not having one for literally years. Imagine that for a life. And yet I return. And so groundless, just, like everest, because it's there. Because I can, and can get away with it. Imagine 6 years of lucidity, for a person hating lucidity. Does it feel like I'm home? This is truly the Hauptfrage.(And still no message). No, I just feel a bit bleary and irritated. I mean, why not just simply reply? An excuse is all that's needed. Fuck it, I need to ask her, just like, wtf? Why be all nice and then not? Surely she realizes that I'm someone who can't take rejection? And yet she rejects, then unrejects.
This blog post has taught us two things: that I shouldn't blog when ineb'd, since I seem to channel a 15 year old twat, and that life is a fearful misery.

2010-10-28T14:12:00.000-07:00

Oh life, oh life. Well, it appears that MC and me are back. I don't know what the hell the story is with her guy, but it seems that we are back. She's back to her flirtatious self; I took a look at her pupils, and them suckas were dilated to buggery looking at me, tho the room was dark. And there is another variable, which perhaps needs revealed, but, paranoid that I am that anyone, tho it is impossible, given the info i've revealed, unless you already knew me very well indeed, should recognise from these unread writing who I am; this variable could be altering things. But I don't think it is. Moreover, at present I am somewhat impaired. I know what this means, but again I'm scared to reveal it in foro externo lest whatever. I need to think of something to do re MC; it is now perhaps fitting for me truly and earnestly to make a move. Could this year sneak up and become mine? Ascertain whether there's a bloke, tho the question pains, and move from there.

2010-10-18T14:01:00.000-07:00

Well, I need to cease being such a neurotic. I think I'm getting towards letting go of MC and holding on to PH. I am coming to like her more; the weekend we had lunch together and watched a movie, a shit movie. The problem is my deep lack of self-confidence, so that if I don't receive a token of esteem each day I feel as if she is slipping from me. I am very insecure, unfortunately. And so, tonight, I feel the wings of mild despair pass over me, and for no good reason. To an extent it's I who does all the pursuing, which irritates. Moreover, I guess I should have made a move, but how does one do such things? No fucking clue. Also, I haven't revealed any of my dark secrets to her. Which I will need to. But at least I seem to be moving on from MC. Should I perhaps reveal myself to her? I.e. Polyhymnia. I think we're somewhat in an awkward stage. One issue is that I like to text, to be in contact often, and I think she doesn't. I initiate all textual exchanges. Anyway: there is NO reason to feel bad, on my part, this monday evening, all things considered. It is, I guess, tho it still paineth to say, for the best that MC and I muss ( subject here, the relationship) nicht sein. Thank you, Lord God; although whether this isn't the 'thank you' of the professional athlete, I don't know.

2010-10-14T13:06:00.000-07:00

Ah life, thou piece of shit. Or rather, Ah me, thou piece of shit. Just unhappy, again. Nothing will happen with MC; let's just face it, she is with another. My other girl is ok, but nothing more. I am just shit at living, and would gladly not do so. But will continue, just mediocre, mediocre, mediocre. Can't wait for this year to be over, then hopefully I can fuck off elsewhere, have a new start, at which point i'll actually be able to make friends. A whole year spent unhappy pursuing mc, whom i like so much. And then nothing, there be's someone else. I get rejected again. atopos ge esti. I am super smart, super good looking, and nothing. No confidence. Oh to be dead! Obviously this is silly. Jesu soll meine Freude bleiben. Hat er aber immer ( ever?) meine Freude gewesen? Lebt er? Should he do, then all is fine, all is dandy. But should he don't, then what? Live miserable for ever? My fond hopes that this had been my year depart. Nothing, no hope, no place nowhere, never into eternity. PCDN. Only the fond fantasies; the defenestration thoughts in the dark scurl of my ever empty bed. The walking alone, the re-ly taken up smoking and fantasising habits, in the dark of a peopled city, with the sussurous 'fuck you' of the anxious belly. The desperate empty hours.
Fuck it; was ist zu getan werden? One must look onwards and upwards.

2010-10-06T14:47:00.000-07:00

Oh me, oh my. You answered that one quickly God! MC, it pains, partially, to relate, is seeing someone. If it weren't for - let's quickly give her a name - Polyhymnia - it would be dead. But she is. Oh life! But it hurts! Do I even love MC? But this is all for the best, surely. We can both remain happy. Seriously, this is for the best. I can only thank the Weltgeist. But to have been unchosen, to have been, albeit incredibly obliquely, and probably more for circumstantial than for other reasons rejected! Sois sage, o ma douleur, et tiens toi plus tranquille. But not my will, but yours. But skotodeino! I spiral into darkness. It's funny how the pain of hurting MC is considerably less than my pain now. Humankind, tho woeful vessel! And how life, at all moments, surprises you. I never saw that coming! Recorditi di mi, che son la tua vita, this instant. No. Really, this is the best possible outcome! I am literally not exaggerating with all these exclamation points, this is how I feel at present. This is life: as the skurl without of excited students, the banter within, the knocking of heart on skin ( inskin, i mean). The slight wet of my hair; the waiting for a message from PH. The stomachwanking agony of emotion. The desire just not to be, to be away from these feelings. But these feelings are life, and it is not to be avoided.

Be positive! I need to turn this around, to get my mind off the events that transpired: as she said 'I've kind of...', and I knew the ending of the sentence. And a year of my life... but think back even to yesterday. This is a good result. But it hurts! The future however is mine and PH. I can and will have a girlfriend this year, hopefully. That was my goal. And a nice girl, and a non-complicated one.

God be thanked.

2010-10-05T14:13:00.001-07:00

oh life, you dolorous thing. instead of a gap, now, it seems i have a glut of frauen, tho she yclept mc remains, as is her wont, on the fence. However, things are such that I fear she may think that the pretender to the wattthrone, is in fact already enthroned, on account of her having seen us together. And this, if I were her, would pain, and so i feel. I could be wrong: she could - mirabile, at least sort of, dictu - not like me, and I'm unfettered. She could - h.d. - like me still. In which case not only am I fettered, but, should anything ever happen, the other would get hurt. But the thing is, the mc like is of much antiquer vintage, and preferencewise, it has to go with her. This despite the fact that she can be rude and incommunicative, which the other isn't. So my provisional plan, life, is just to bite the fucking bullet, and ask, if an opportunity arises, mc out. If she says no, then fuck it - excuse me, readers, for what i am about to say is harsh, horrid humanly speaking - i have the other to fall back on. This is not how one treats people. But... I'm going to do my darnest not to hurt anyone, including myself. Indeed, I, hereby, in front of God and the interwebz, do solemnly swear to do anything within my power to, if someone is to be hurt, make that person be me. So yes, am I to be on the look out to ask mc out.

2010-09-28T14:58:00.000-07:00

Hundredth post. And it's quite a happy one: it is even conceivable, tho this isn't so happy, that I am in the position of having two bitchez after me. The aforementioned non-MC one and I today had dinner together, and I am led to believe that her being at dinner was directly on account of my being the same. So the plan now is to tarry a bit, see what the splash is, then textify her. Wrt to mc, the problem is she is very reserved in this respect, she gives just nothing away, tho our meeting in class on monday was very effortless indeed, which was nice. I am righting because I have not been sleeping these nights, because my thoughts have been contorted with the thoughts I am expressing. It is perhaps early - it is, in fact, the second day of term - but things are looking well up for this year.

2010-09-26T12:49:00.001-07:00

Hallo Hallo.

Well, back to uni, back to blubbery, blubbery einsam seelenleben, wo kein wort von mc kommt, und das internetfrau schreibt mir noch nicht. doch... God doesn't close a door but he opens a window, in the form of yet another siren, who keeps despair far hence. What happened was I met, on the stairs, a young lady with quite a name on my first name back. We talked for two hours over tea about music and such like, swapped numbers. It was nice. She is a dreamy, intellectual type, you know, smiley and slightly kooky. I've been trying, successfully, let it be known, not to text her, to play it cool so that any misinterpretation as to the nature of her interest be not made evident by over-friendliness. However, text her I will, in the next couple of days, perhaps. In other news, my roommate is awesome, cqfc ( ce que fut connu), and my place is far from not bad, even if I am so saying myself. Let us see how things pan out, and especially the meeting with she called mc.

2010-09-18T12:15:00.001-07:00

Well, it's the last Saturday night before college again begins. It's been a fine summer; some positives rolled out, some pleasing intellection, some mild despair. It's my vow not to be alone the rest of the year. How exactly this is to come about, i'm not sure. MC is the main target. So I suppose it will behove me to ask her out or something. There is other internetful broad. She's older and more likely to intercourse me, which is good, but she's not MC. She's criminally disinterested in things. Wrt religiosity, which was one of the goals of the summer, I think the position that I've reached is that there may indeed, rationally speaking, be a God, but it seems hard to see how he could interfere in human affairs, since he doesn't appear to. Perhaps the mere fact that belief in God helps is not to be interpreted as just a evolution wrought kink in our brains, but an indication that we are on to something: that we are wired for belief because that's how he wants it. Second conclusion: Jesus may well be he. Let us grant that a fair bit of the gospels may not record accurately what he said ( that this is the case is fairly well established in biblical commentaries). Nevertheless, we have that he is, that he is at the very least a pointer to God ( allowing as a limiting case of pointinghood that a pointer can point to itself)... I mean wrt to the above. I believe, and am ameliorated. Whence the amelioration? God or me? Is there a difference? But then, what about placebo effect - amelioration without even belief.

But I'm still not being moral, not sufficiently. It is easy to fall into a mire, to overlook good doables. God would not, should not be happy with how I live. This I need to make true for myself. But it's a process: I may, or may not, get there eventually.

2010-09-03T09:09:00.001-07:00

Hello hello. Well, life continueth. I return to college prolly this day 3 weeks hence. Beginning to get a bit nervy therebecause. Let me count the day. I gymed, then ate rice, then read about the cosmos, then some acts, then some Dennett. It is a fine, fine day. Very hot : perhaps it's even too late to say that it's the last hurray of the summer. Old MC been back in contact, as, to be honest, I suspected she would be. I do think I genuinely like her. Also FL seems to be a potentiality, despite the fact that she don't know philosophy for shit and perhaps hides dark secrets. But, in fact, despite the anonymity of this blog, that's a fairly shitty thing to say about someone. W, after all, WJD? There's no way that's not a valid question. Is this the case? I.e. is Jesus' moral teaching just straight correct? Anyhoo, I have a sort of cerebral if not biotic xianity going, and i'm fuelling that sucka with more cerebrum, which is prolly the last thing it needs. But I think certainly it's a necessary condition for me that it be intellectually coherent. Hawking apparently says we don't need God; 'll have ( why does no one use such a fly abbreviation?) to check out his book, see if this is indeed the case. Time for food.

2010-08-23T05:22:00.000-07:00

Ah, du armiges Armheit! Life bears itself heavy. There appears a divide in my family between the socially successful and the not, and I'm in the not category. One must just hope. In a month I'll be back there where it is possible to cease to be alone. I have made the requisite efforts on my self this summer, physically, hopefully mentally. The idea of providence is interesting. It appears to me, though this is of course a very open to interpretation thing, that God does indeed provide. There seems to come when I need it something to tide me over. I don't want to expatiate on the theory behind this because since I am still howling alone, but the case in point is that young MC appears to have fallen off the radar in quite an extreme and potentially awkward come the recommencement of term fashion, which I guess in fact hurts, as the fact that I am indeed likeable is in sore need of confirmation, life long wise, and this rather infirms it, sadly. However, the window has been opened, tho potentially quickly shut again on account of drear, in the form of a fraulein ( hereafter FL?), sameaged and seemingly lonely and unhiding of it. So perhaps if things should develop, I could go home to some hope. But we seem to have run out of conversation quite early. Well, we'll see. The most important thing is to remember certain verities: there's a good chance that a God exists, the happiness of my family is something that I should rejoice over ( think of the alternative: if they were unhappy, would I be happier? Thankfully the answer to that is 'no'), I need to help and buffet and try to live well for the less happy. Just please, cosmo, let it not be empty for me any more!

2010-08-15T11:46:00.000-07:00

Well, the summer progresses with the gait of a sullen cow, mooing and lowing ponderously, through heavy stomachs on hot days traverse ca et la by shining thoughts. Some negative MC action, it must be said, tho I am somewhat confident like Abraham was confident that things can resolve themselves. I remember near the start of the year I suggested that this could have been my year: if something should happen on my return, it still could be tho 3/4s of it has been the same old solitary me, which I hate. Hope, as I said, deferred etcs. And I wouldn't like to wait as long as Abraham. So I am doing one of my characteristic August and august projections: what will things be like for me come, say, Christmas? Still howling lonely?

2010-07-11T11:51:00.000-07:00

Ah life, thou spritely little thing. Hope deferred and all that. Well, how are the holidays shaping up for me? Been dentist, been gym, excogitating some innaresting stuff both logic wise and religion wise, but there remains the old problems, that, well, I'm what I am, unpeopled and unserene thereat, and hope does indeed attend me, and let's just hope that hope'll be made real. To look back on a life of unrealized hope! But I shouldn't even think about that shit. I do tend to believe that it is possible to gain what one wants, but when it's, the final frontier, human contact, to misquote the simpsons, well, there my confidence isn't so great, for confidence gaineth support inductively likesay as the bible has it.
And moreover moreover moreover, it's ridiculous, well kind of, that I should blemish my life with complaints thereabouts, to the extent that I get to spend my time doing what I like etc., my family are happy, more or less, or are such that my happiness is a function of theirs, and I am aiming for mine, unlike in time gone by. One can just propel oneself forwards. That's all there is to it.
Anyway, I continue religiousing, tho I fell off the wagon. Been augmenting my biblestew with a bit of bhagavadgita, and some relatively mediocre book on buddhism. I would like, without going nuts about it, to purify myself, sort of like a summer clean, mainly physical, and perhaps attempt to face up to the howling dismal woe that deep down makes me unable to stop for a moment.
Deep, huh? But anyway, we all have our own, I think, HDW, we all feel, or at least many people, alienated from others, driven constantly to distraction ( not what that phrase means I'm sure but who cares)

2010-06-28T09:16:00.000-07:00

Well, gloria in excelsis deo; hereby is indicated a problem. I feel uncomfortable, embarrassed even it seems to say, Thanks God in foro externo, by which I mean in public. So why didn't I just say so? For thanking God seems, just, unme. I can do it in private, certainly, but it seems epaischunomai to euangelion, which isn't very good, at least to the imagined secular readership of this blog. Really, thanking God isn't cool. But fuck it like. Thanks, God. And the cause of my thanking is that - shock horror - today I finally went to the dentist, a task I've been putting off and fearing for months and less anxiously years, and things are ok! I need stuff to do, like, but nothing too drastic. Amazingly happy: I was certain that the original sin of my alcoholism was to reverberate throughout my life. That my mouth would be a window to ruined liver, kidneys, teeth. But it doesn't appear so. Now the scoffers would be moderately right to say, well, what's God got to do with the acid content of your mouth? Perhaps nothing, but should it be off hand ruled out? I'll admit it sounds stupid: why would he care about my mouth when all the tragedies etc. But I don't know: one hears oftentimes of new Christians finding things to fall in their lap in a strange way. Perhaps there is no correlation here: only those new Christians who happen to have something good happen mention it, but again, who knows. For with the premise that God exists, nothing except some common sense theology stands in one's way. But the more important point is that my belief that God was there to support me determined by going; my belief in God has kicked into touch the recalcitrant addictions, or at least improved them. We are heading here into pragmatic conception of truth here, and I'm hungry, so we'll stop.

2010-06-21T06:47:00.000-07:00

An empty, empty, empty afternoon. My religiosity continues, albeit dubiously. For de omnibus dubitandum and mockedandum and not treatedforultimatelytrueandum, but religion requires that one shake off that postmodern coil n take some things serious. And you know, I'm very just like doubtful about everything, above all the existence of God. It's the same old problem, the eternal problem: do we, qua weak, come to God because we're weak or invent God therebecause? But it's really a function of the fact that i'm getting nothing, spiritually speaking: I feel nothing. Also, i don't give a dutch palm tree for eternal life, nor have I any fears re hell. A theophany would be nice. But for me I think it's a question of having like a personal, divine trainer: I want to have life, and have it to the full, not an eternal facsimile thereof, for let's face it, an eternal life with God is not like any life we know. Moreover, my track record seems to indicate that I can't do so: but is that fair? I made a moderately good effort, detailed in all its painful glory below, and came close. So perhaps my motives are wrong. But then so are alcoholics' etc, they just wanna screw the pooch of booze addiction in their addled pelts likes. Moreover, it says that God won't turn anyone away. I.e., if God exists, then he won't turn anyone away. I don't see to have been turned unaway, ergo God doesn't exist? Perhaps patience and, as Husserl would put it, an empty intending, awaiting fulfilment patiently. I've nothing else to do the summer anyway, and the change to flex my self-control muscle isn't to be sniffed at. But these are probably not the avenues of thought to be traversing, on account of the pascalinity.

2010-06-07T06:14:00.000-07:00

Well, let's see. Back at home for c. a month, in peace. Several straggling addictions have been, it appears, curbed. And by what? Well, it seems, by God. Of course perhaps not: perhaps by me. Been reading and thinking through various matters religious. The problem of sin is still the problem that I have: I wrong you, and yet am forgiven not by making amends to you, but my being forgiven my God. An Aristotelian conception of sin: no relations, just properties of my. Now one interpretation is that it's both. That by wronging someone one qualifies them and oneself. One can then remove one's qualify but not the other's. It just seems unfair, does it not? That one can be a dick, hurt someone deeply, and then be forgiven, while the other continues to suffer. Exactly, unfair. But, does not the justice system operate according to the same presumption? Are we not looking, in this idea of punishment, precisely an eye for an eye? There are two different issues here: it's unfair because the wrongdoer isn't punished, it's unfair because the wrongdoee isn't comforted ( or better phrase). So, the ideal situation would be: I repent, then God rewards the other, sort of a psychical settlement. Why does this not occur? Ultimately we're back, it seems, to theodicy. Precisely to dice, dike. But we should disentangle the two ideas of punishment and settlement.

2010-05-06T12:05:00.000-07:00

My 90th post, and the last for a while probably. It is now completed. Incredibly painful. I don't really want to rake over things, but I will. Many deeply sleepless nights: a real rapprochement this, last, week. Last night we had tea. I thought we had got somewhere. I planned, hoped, that this evening we would do something. At dinner she was distant; something had happened. The question that will torment me: was it that I didn't express something at tea, or was it that she saw something at tea that she didn't like? I can't go on. But I will.

2010-04-27T13:53:00.001-07:00

I think we are at the stage when finally all hope is extinguished for this year; and I feel fine. It is sad, that it is very conceivable, if not certain, that we mutually like one another, and that I could, at close of play, have been pulled out of the circle of the self. But one must attempt to distance oneself from one's pathemata, and concentrate specifically at this time on one's mathemata, or whatever the greek for things-to-be-learnt would be, and more generally on to kalon in one's life. Indeed, I think it's almost without self-deception that I now accept my fate, and that i'm not perpretrating that old fallacious trick of willing myself not to will because the non-willed happens. It's been, tho painful, often a more pleasant year than before. I have tried, and tho materially failed, I came, I think, pretty close. I've learnt things - unfortunately not how to interact with strangers, which is after all important. But I have made at least a good friend in her. The plan for the summer is to sort things out and continue to read ta biblia. But it's confusing. There are many things in there that just seem unpleasant. The idea of the etymological paraclete well comforts, but all the klauthmos kai brugmos ton odonton doesn't sit well. Also, the fact that I seem to be practicing, if that is not too strong a word for what I am doing, a very recreational christianity doesn't seem quite right. Of course, many people do, but many people are idiots. It seems to do it, it is something one must do entirely w heart + mouth + deed + life: it is not just some analgesic, or shouldn't be. But then: it is not for all to go nuts, really, is it, for in that case priests et al. would be the only religious people. And indeed, it seems some people would trim down the message to two words: Have faith, and that this is sufficient and necessary to be a christian. The problem is one just doesn't know: things conflict. What if having faith were only necessary: i assume no-one will deny this. Ultimately perhaps we need help from experience. To the extent that faith is necessary, abide in faith for a bit and see if one is enlightened. Say one's prayers; act decent towards others; be thankful in good and comforted in bad times. See where it heads. Yes. Allora, I would like to take this opportunity to publicly thank God for my present peace and situation.

2010-04-23T13:55:00.000-07:00

Ah life, the pain it holds itself quieter again. I just don't know! Whether the frau likes me or not. I just don't know. I think it is very plausible: should I make yet another push for it? No: the stress it caused me last time was very nearly seriously ruinous to my health. I do, however, I think, really like her; it's not just that she's a her. But time is so short; there isn't any. I guess the thing is just to continue, vaguely hope, and just spend time with her when I can. Just hope. With regards to my religiosity, its presence in my head seems to be a function of my misery; or my happiness. I give thanks, and seek consolation. I don't constantly think on it; I really don't know if one is supposed to. Do I believe? Is - to ponderously go over what has already been ponderously pondered - it just out of desperation that I turn there? No, maybe not. In fact, even if today - and thanks, one really must say thanks and why not to God, for for so many people every day is misery, and one day is not a negligible portion of life - I am at an even level, moodwise, there will come time when I won't be. But,,, what is the meaning of religion? A comforter? What does one, qua religious person, do? I don't know; I guess I can do what I can do, give thanks and seek comfort, comfort and thanks, thanks and comfort.
I guess, if I wanted to, an awkward question I could ask myself would be her or God. And I guess if I were truly serious, the answer would be God, but I guess it isn't. But this isn't my fault.
You know, I believed that prayer was unnecessary, because God can discern the raw thinks even if not conceptualized in words: but for us, for whom expression in words often leads to new revelations about what we think, this is not the case. Oculi omnium in te sperant, domine.

2010-04-19T13:55:00.000-07:00

Well, it's silly to hide out of shame the train of thoughts that have been occurring to me. They are of a religious bent. No I know the first argument that will be put forward is that i'm simply attempting to alleviate my misery by positing an invisible friend in the sky, and that I am thus weak. If not formally this seems to beg the question. For of course if I weren't miserable - which, parenthetically speaking, I am not, at present - I probably wouldn't be moving in that direction. But that doesn't prove anything. Perhaps one needs to suffer in order to come into a relationship with God. The sense of embarrassment I feel writing these words is interesting: it is an attack on who I am, the utterly wattian rationalist. Yes, it is. But again this isn't an argument against the existence of God.
However, it will be noted that the argumentation above is extremely weak and full of lacunae. Is this not an indication that I am already sacrificing reason to palliate my woes? Hmmm. Hauptpremise: One turns to God because one is weak ( n.b. this isn't a new train of thought - this will be a stream of consciousness blog). Because one can't deal with the world as it is. Yes! Of course, human weakness doesn't prove the existence of God, but nor does the fact that people who are weak turn to God disprove it.
Bleh. This isn't clear at all. God doesn't exist: people invent him because they are weak. God may exist: people turn to him because they are weak. If their weakness is alleviated - as mine seems to be being alleviated, or at least my misery - after this turn, does it not become more plausible that God exists? No; it's just the power of positive thought. The power of positive thought is the only explanation, because God doesn't exist, or, the power of positive thought is an explanation, and i'll admit a good one.
But anyway: my main point was to say that I have abandoned all hope of MCness, at least this term. This sentence no longer has power to rent me in twain. If God exists, then he cares for me. My misery is shared; I gain perspective. A simple happy day of reading; a happy family. Friends, of a sort, or at least one. I needn't look at people with envy because of what they have that I lack; there is something else. A lack is filled. A simple happy enough day after days of unslept misery: by surrendering. There is something above me, a meaning. Something to make me realize that for which I have to be thankful, and to console me in misery. To take a step back. None of this is an argument for the existence of God.

2010-04-15T13:38:00.000-07:00

Miserable, utterly, utterly miserable. I really feel as if I am losing it. Sleeping little, constant bug of anxiety in stomach over her. Literally almost shaking at the moment from physical and mental weakness. I have fucking _tried_, but it just doesn't work. I seriously feel like i am predestined never to exit the circle of the self. The fact is that i've gone from thinking that she liked me to now thinking that she didn't. The time i've spend, as I feared I would, chasing a shadow. It was perhaps just the misinterpreted friendliness of a friendly girl. And through my so weak body I am contemplating one final push, a final facebook message tonight. But that means, probably, another sleepless night. And my cards, which are already more or less out, being further out. You see I think i opened myself towards her, and she rejected me, subtillisima. It is very conceivable that i'm overimagining. What should I do? One final push? I need to abandon all hope, to make the moves, like a sceptic, while having no motivating interest. Help me.
You see, all this could be my imagination. She could like me and something could happen. But my thoughts are now that her thoughts envers moi aren't positive. My fear of rejection, I think, is pushing me away. But there have been negative tokenlets: an unwillingness to keep in a dialogue, a reticence boardering on avoidance yesterday at dinner. Fuck it, I think the evidence is still in my favour, and tho it could fuck me up, I think i'm going to make that last push. It's the braver thing to do. Sei brav, armes Ding.

2010-03-29T11:25:00.000-07:00

Profoundly low. Will things get better for me? Bad MC day. I could cry. I am just bad at being social. Fuck. I need help, of some sort. The fucking newly light nights perturb, giving me no place to hide my loneliness. But it's not loneliness per se: it's past and present loneliness, skipping relentless and sore into a pained future, looking back on a pained past. When in school I had what it wouldn't be an overexaggeration to call almost a nervous breakdown, because I was alone. Subsequently, I became an alcoholic and the problem calmed down. Subsequently I became obsessed with studying, and it stayed calmed down. But it has reared its head, as this blog testifies. And i'm in exactly the same situation.
But more concrete. For, as has been more than intimated, i think that the girl indeed likes me. But the last two weeks have been, from my perspective, shit. And indeed if it's only from my perspective, still it's my perspective that is making me miserable. So i need to change my perspective. I need, as it were, to bracket the external world. But that world pulls me back in, and burns. When i'm at home, i'm alone, tho with family. And I seldom get too badly depressed, since distracted. But here....I'm not sleeping, I have no strength. Exactly like what happened previously, in school. I need help.

2010-03-26T05:47:00.001-07:00

Is depression occurrent or perdurant? For I fear I am thus. Sleeping ill, full of self-recriminations in a most beastly tone. the cause? well guess! mein beliebtes bleibt von mir entfernt. But the most recriminatory, in this recriminationary time, is that we still don't recriminate. Ok, that doesn't make any sense whatsoever. But I do need to analyse my pain, that it may be loosened up, like the gut-blocking turd it is ( for as before remarked, my gut is where I feel, and I wake up these mornings damnably anxious). So what to say, what to do? I need to recall that I am me, and am not them, and therefore can't be held accountable to the same standards. This sounds to a certain extent daft, I know. But is at least somewhat true. Also, the most recriminatory is that I feel like MC has been giving me hints which I haven't taken, and the opportunity may have been missed. Because it's only seldom that we see each other. And time is running out. And all my hopes for this year were pinned on her. And the cosmos is empty apart from us. I've been troubled with some self-harming ideation, on which i will never act, but tis still disturbing. I need to regain equilibrium and, to repeat it yet again, learn to be auto kath'hauto before I be pros ti. I need on all hope to strangle it to jump on it and gnaw its neck. If I am lucky....but i am not lucky. Am I predestined always alone to be? That's what it feels like, and that's what attrists. But it may be false. I don't know. Really, simply to be sometimes is truly heroic. What a fucking stupid thing to say.

2010-03-25T09:00:00.000-07:00

Unhappy. Work is problematic, MC action isn't and won't be at least until next week and probably not even then, i'm tired, there's an unhappy gutweh, my room is untidy and recognised as such, there's an unhappy gutweh, i'm tired, MC action isn't and work is problematic. In situations such as these the main thing is to keep breathing, not to let one's anxieties cause one to skotodinein, to spiral into darkness, not from wonder but from woe. Why are things - comparatively speaking - so difficult? And in this comparatively speaking all is revealed. For cmon da fuck. My room will be fine, my gutweh will cease, work will fall together. I should count my blessings, and let a smile be my umbrella, tho a frown is, it must be admitted, a much better one. But one! That I should fall in das Man, the one! And be like them! That I should be hen, and not aoriston! For I'm not at present thinkable (vide. Ar. Mph bk4 ch4-6). It makes one one-der that I, ebenbild der Gottheit, not arseholicular in any potent sense, bearer of positive qualities should waste away ein-sam, never Zwei, and always thus in Ver-zwei-flung. But my christ I drei! Yet I vier that nothing good will happen; I cinque so low before, into the circle of the self, that to pull os out, and to live with others, shenaniganly ( for http://www.blogger.com/post-create.g?blogID=7009115265903181305sechs is important) and otherwise is impossible..I'm too sept in my ways! But let us tarry slightly, reader, and separate the huit from the tares. Hope, as it has been remarked upon, eternally bleeds and bleeds eternal. And to the extent that life is like a lottery, only shit, it is the case that to be in it one must in it, and i am at least formally in it. I have a location in space, and time, qualified quantities and quantified quantities; i'm wearing clothes and sitting am writing an essay and being hurt my the slings and cuntrows of outrageous fortune. So as I say, formally i'm in it. I can't think of any suitable pun for nine unfortunately, but i'm not going to let this tarassei me: I'll be zehn about it.

2010-03-23T12:16:00.000-07:00

Lorks a lordy i'm predictable. Despite my sane advice to myself not to let my good plan harden and become an obsession, my good plan hardened and became an obsession thru a harsh night and a poor day capt by a negative tokenlet. First, the fond fantasies of which i'd been free for a while, letting things happen, returned. Fond they were, and fooooolish. Shitwich. The day, I went to a boring class with the hope of seeing here, she didn't arrive. But all my hopes were pinned on dinner. We sit and bam! Admittedly, the etiquette dictates that she don't sit with me. But we didn't see each other after either, and I go home sadhearted, aware that Tuesday is my best herday, and that the opportunity to formulate my plan will thus almost inevitably not occur this week, and so another week is gone. Concrete hopes and plans suck, especially in such a variableful environment as social interaction. BUT MOTHERFUCK GODDAMMIT TO SHIT, IS MY PLAN CONDEMNED TO GATHER MUST WITH ALL THE OTHER POSSIBILIA, SUCH AS THE PROOF OR DISPROOF OF THE CONTINUUM HYPOTHESIS??? That one can lack occasion, and potentially nothing else. For that is all i appear to be lacking, and moreover it's a much more concrete occasion that i lack, namely and simply the occasion to talk one-one with her.
Therapy: This is what is. I am condemned to by room for another night. Something may happen again in future: put the plan in your back pocket and let it gather dust, and just merely concentrate on the happiness of working and abstractly hoping.

Funnily enough, the more i excogitate certain matters, the more it appears that she has been hinting to me. but I may be overreading things.

2010-03-22T15:36:00.000-07:00

Blogging in an attempt to formulate a plan. Now there have been little concrete, tho many abstract indications, some detailed pastwise, other more present. It is my sense that she does like me. Moreover, I guess I may as well test the waters; at this stage there is little left to lose. So I need to propose something. But what? This is my question. There are several things here: first, I can make no concrete plans, along the lines of when x happens,i'll do y, for experience teaches that there is seldom a coincidence between the abstract and the concrete. Rather what I need is plans for various eventualities. So if x then y. Think a largeish computer program. But what is there? Well, step 1, i will see if there's anything on at the cinema...scratch that, i've just had a good idea. I will find and dl a film that pertains to both of our interests. Yes! Then, i'll casually mention it. If she says, oh, i'd like to see it then we're laughing. It is concievable that she hinted at something of this kidney last week.
OK, now the second part of the blog is not the plan per se, but rather plan theory, and specifically my attitude towards the plan. I can't assume that the plan will come to fruition either now or in the next n weeks. But let it rest. I am happy with my plan.

2010-03-16T15:13:00.000-07:00

Ah, days. It's those things that aren't meant to hurt one that do so; an off hand remark on the part of my friend that i go home most weekends. This is true; but the implication, that i have nothing to do here, which he nevertheless knows, that he knows it attrists. The days have been but good. But there is a paradox: in order not to be pained, i must not hope concretely. But if I don't hope concretely i don't plan, for these are more or less synonymous. The betristfulest: that it is almost certain that we like each other, but that for want of an occasion nothing is to happen. But well, we are revolving, in this blog, in circles.

2010-03-10T14:04:00.000-08:00

Ah life, the emotions hold themselves much better today. Yesterday I was all sur toute joie pour l'etrangler j'ai fait le bond sourde (?) de la bete feroce, today my douleur is plus tranquille. I think the important thing is to hope, but not concretely hope. But this I mean let the fond fantasies play, because quite simply they make me happy; I don't have the constitution to be dmom, really, perhaps no-one does. The nature of my violent overreactions is interesting in itself; it is part and parcel of emotional thinking: nothing is done by halfs. But the doulorous counterpoint to the above is that my thiseved contentitude owes it's existence to tokens of esteem from my beliked, little ones indeed, but ones nonetheless. But the weekend looms with nothing to do, although let's not let facts spoil mood.

2010-03-09T11:20:00.000-08:00

CUUUUUUUUUUNT. Compelled twice to blog away the pain. Dinner with her. Bad. Well, I exaggerate. But not good. I'm just a fucking spasticwit. Truly, I am upset. FUCK. Back now at home with nothing but the gloam of the computer screen, the lone of the voice, the utter abeyance that results when one realizes that it's too much to call os TMWP, for the first two words misrepresent mightily the state of affairs. For I am outis, Meon. Yes; when MC be MC in this blog, and a definite description of me be TMWP, so hereafter i'm not Watt, for that suggests an interrogative, and we know from Heidegger that Dasein aka TM is the interrogating animal, and I am not TM, therefore just Meon. Better of course would be or even to refuse to use the indexical consisting entirely of the first letter of indexical.
But such philological pleasanteries cannot console me now. For what has been realized is the crushing of the hopes which malgre moi-meme I must and had to continue to cherish. Now nothing. For opportunities will not present themselves again this week, or the next x weeks. And this will almost inevitably, when i reread this in 6 or so weeks, prove to be the case.
And it may seem stupid, indeed it is, adolescently so, but at present I have the sense of the utter aphorismenos eis dusangelion eatou. That there is no overseeing providence, nor failing that a rhyme or reason. Again, let me reiterate that one shouldn't judge these learian thoughts a) on their cause b) until one has leered the kelch. For christbechristed Christ but I - am - trying. The ease , my god, the ease of others. What to do? a) tonight b) the next x days. Ultimately what can I do? This fit will pass and scab, the slight trails will be lighted up again; when I go out at present I'll begin the process of analysing the black box in my head ( unpack the metaphor yourself). I'll most probably convince myself of something, a tokenlet, like a universe that takes away all and leaves a watch on a dessert for shits and giggles (k, this is overly obscure). Imagine, tho you don't know what I look like, a camera above me slowly zooming out, to me becoming eventually a speck, an ant like apparently appears in the film the third man. Ah fuck it, i can't be bothered no more. Fuck you, cosmo!

Day bloggin'

2010-03-09T08:46:00.000-08:00

Not, this time, on account of any acute pain, but rather a dull mischievous throb. A week was passed ataraxic at home, and i've returned to nichtsberg, wherein my plan to lasciare ogni speranza, cept the mild, unattainable ones such as the hope for the afterlife, but not that, worked well for the first but is grating now we've reached the second day. Little MC shenanigans have been or are expected to be called. There is an item: but I don't want to expose it on account of thereby, tho this is truly ridiculous, deanonymising myself or her: suffice it to say, the possibility that any interest she may have in me is as a means and not an end. Hopefully i'm wrong, but really, what does it matter? I think I am fairly resolved to be going back home in a couple of months to a friendless home, with all my imperfections, having failed at my appointed task of which I wrote those months ago and which this blog has chronicled. One must learn to love o\s. But well: the second most platitudinous platitude is: while I live, I hope.

2010-02-24T13:32:00.000-08:00

Well, today nothing happened - in steve coogan swimmingpool attendant voice, if that pleases you. So 2 days remain, that something happens, which it of course will. Cast my net somewhat on dating site, without responses. I mean, really? My profile is more or less indistinguishable from perfection. But anyway. I wanted to blog about the general contentitude i was feeling; until I logged on to fb and was reminded of my fucking up, which has rereleased the self-directed expletives. Anyway. Good day: Hope bleeds eternal, got my accomodation sorted out for next year, with my friend, in hopefully a nice, small place. Very interesting and productive studying. Not too woe begirt about e'thing. There is always hope, fuck it, dmom needs hope. This is close to a contradictio in adjecto, but anyway. What, then, for the necessary concomitant of hope, plans? No plans. I go home after tomorrow, and not too sad about it. It is. One needs hope; tho one can't, one will, go on. While i breath, i hope. Pistis, Elpis, Agape; faith, hope, charity(?). There is undoubtably something in these words. If we take charity, as the greek and church slavonic ( Ljuby) has it, to mean some form of love, this seems like a fairly good way to live one's life.
I guess my religious leanings of late are to indicate that i need help. Moreover, it seems to me I need help in the form of a piece of luck, a piece of chance. Let us premise that I am not undesirable; let us also, more dubiously premise - no! let's not that - the name should be banished from this blog, it leads to a very painful circle - - i am liked; then, if the occasion should present itself, all could become well. So what's needed is that the occasion present itself. But it doesn't. To have done all the hard stuff and be excluded by the workings of chance! That I should have befriended on just that day! That, if ever there was, is dustuche. Really it is, it never occurred to me. Really, you fucking owe me one cosmo!

der Mann ohne Moeglichkeiten, or, the efficacy of prayer

2010-02-23T12:21:00.000-08:00

Is it possible for the man without possibilities to be sad? When I am sad e.g. re my x's death, am i sad that x is dead or that - x is alive? If you follow me? Am I sad because of the excluded possibility or the actuality which excludes it?
Anyway, I know what you're thinking: tmwp (dmom) doesn't blog, unless in tedious fashion to recount the days many nothingnesses. But I was thinking: even if i can't take about possibilities, it's surely the case that the possibility is actual, so I can talk about it? Is that cheating?
Anyway, ima say a resounding motherfuck to the below, while still maintaining its ataraxifying benefits im einsamen Seelenleben.
Today, it was nothing, and I was fairly unperterbed until i go to my little room at close of play, when i always feel the sting of loneliness. I try; but do i? Let's say I do. God, I try, and this 'God' is both an expletive and an apostrophe. And nothing. But there are others, less endowed than me, and i'm not talking cockwise, for whom things are so easy. Well, that's surely false, but it appears so to me anyway. What one must do? I am like first order logic with no added axioms. I can't even express 1+1=2; why? Because i have no friends. It is necessary to have friends, in order to socialise, in order to meet people outside the eingeschraenkt confines of the classroom. I have no friend ergo...
Anyhoo, as per the above, what about prayer? Of course prayer surely requires one to think that almost everything is possible, and therein to wallow. So it's not exactly the thing for tmwp. But say one really believes that p will happen; one has faith. This faith manifests itself in various imperceptible ways; this enables p to happen. Now, if one were a scientific christian, it would be interesting to test this out. One prays for a bunch of things of different attainability etc; think of the cosmic ordering service; although it's bullshit theoretically, it may well work. So; can I have faith? Of course, this will be of dubious religiosity. For i don't want faith to be a better person blah blah, but for the possibility of shenanigans; so if god exists, he probably wouldn't appreciate it. But then, if one neglects the god aspect, one has no ground really for one's faith, unless one's faith in faith is founded on faith. Is this circular in a bad way? Should I start to have faith that things will happen for me? How does one do this? Is not faith per se self-deception? One says to oneself, this is going to happen; but one ex hypothesi doesn't know this is going to happen. Of course, Hegel, in a definition of characteristic stupidity, says that faith = knowledge, or rather iff in place of =. Well, dear diary, shall we try? I have faith that something will happen in the next 3 days send me into half term happy. Should I bring God into this? For the countersuggestion is: well, you shouldn't wish for something external to happen, you should rather wish that your beliefs about external things etc. ou ta pragmata again. That's a more conventional religious prayer. Now let's drop the I have faith that: something will happen in the next 3 days.

2010-02-22T11:21:00.000-08:00

As in ontology, so in philology ( by which i mean, natch, the logos of philia, not the logos of logoi, which should of course be called logology, for then the study of the discipline of words could be called logologology, ad inf. et absurdum) analysis must end somewhere. And that, dear diary, home to my treasures, aspirations and asperities, is today. I hereby swear to leave off the thesaurology and the subtle distinctions and appurtenances, moieties &c. thereto that even that minute philosopher, Alciphron, would dismay of; to plunge into each new day utterly hopeless wrt MC, and not, as some of those new to limbo must surely do, hope that ex machina a dea will come to laetificare my decrepit age; on every blemish of optimism to make it all by all to strangle it, and thus to become, with regard to the painful, painful world of other people like a computer, for whom the possible is nothing. To put it clearly in the mathematical precision of Sartre's metaphysics: if it's through the nothing that the possible is born, then I am to plug my nothing, to become a reines etwas( une quelque chose pure). This is really quite simple: there are many actualities to feast one's eyes on, and when i'm tempted to dream, I need only look down and say, this table is white, this handwriting is untidy etc. etc. until the possible-yips are steadied. The reason for this is the following ( and btw, my analysis-lent comes in to effect after i've finished this blog): the proportion of time one spends on the possible is inversely proportional to the time one spends engaged in the interestingly actual. She and most people, are more actual than possible, and thus, in the same situation, rely less on the possible for their happiness, but presumably have actual happiness, and i think it's probably fair to say she does, and thus are less prone to the pain that the possible has in store, which has been my tormentor of late. Again this can be clarified profoundly by the word 'distractions'; if she does love me, she has other things to think of and do, is less desperate therefore that that possible - that we become together - be actualized; is less tormented therefore by the slings and arrows of outrageous postclass interactions.

I can't go on, I can't go on.

2010-02-19T13:16:00.000-08:00

Well, the trope does hold itself as commanded. Let me recount my day. There was to be a thing. She said she was going to go. I spent the day tired and nervous, nervous and tired, breaking into, at times, nausea. Heart beating, I arrive. She is not there, and doesn't subsequently come. I conclude: when one likes someone, one attempts to see them. Perhaps she has a reason, but I doubt it. The plans I had! I even, in expectation, got a dvd that we could watch. That's sad, both dolorously and pathetically.
This has been an exhausting week, emotionally speaking, for me. First the fb, which was such a big move, which failed. Then the waiting for the response, which was another emotional fail. Then a familial visit yesterday, which was fine, but tiring, and then today, which was ueber fail. I'm tired, tired, tired. It is interesting; I can specify an emotional state which i'd like to be mine. It is that of a fisherman. I sit in the sun and wait for nibbles. Now, as far as I understand, when fishing, when one has a bite, one doesn't immediately yank the rod out of the water lest the fish isn't completely caught. One waits, until the fish is so intertwined with the barb that it's well and truly fucked. This is what i'd be; waiting, and happy to be waiting. But I want action; I am torn between not wanting to leave this term, again, empty handed, which will almost invariably be the case, as I with a real sense of sadness realize, and thus wanting to do something, with the utter impotence i feel. FUCK. just halt fuck.
I'ma read some beckett. nessun maggior dolore che ricordarsi nella misericordia that you've never had, in your whole life, socialwise, a tempo felice.

2010-02-18T14:37:00.000-08:00

just a little mantric prebed blog to say: let go. ou ta pramata, alla ta dogmata: For tomorrow, in the abstract, i have great hopes, for which reason nothing will arise. So when I be, alone, at home, tomorrow eve i want you, future trope of douleur, to be gentle, calm and quiet. For, pace below, I can go on like this, for I must, and necessarily p -> possibly p. And indeed, it is possible that (in) p(ace) ( i remain, tho not mortally). I can't go on, i'll go on. Were 7 monosyllables ever better ordered? I can go over, to my massive joy, my treasures, my evidence; and my counterevidence, the transports of woe which which induce in me is perfectly documented below. But, she is. She has both temporal and spatial extension, unlike the thoughts I tend in my little room; there is a fact of the matter in her brain, which holds independently of my weighing and counterweighing, and sighing glad and sad. If it were at all possible try if not then not. Don't force; bitchez can smell deep, dark desperation.

2010-02-16T14:40:00.000-08:00

O Schmerz hier zittert das gequälte Herz

Was, you ask, ist die Ursach aller solcher Klagen? See below. Tourettishly watt dwells, this pained evening, calling his poor, suffering self a stupid **c**** ***t, repeatedly and vehemently. Dreading bed, attempting to forestall the darkling complaints, listening to SMP. No; it calls for analysis, tho i would bei meinem jesum wachen, that is, im himmel. The platitude has before been here offered that one must make peace first with one's self before one other can adulcify one's asperities. And it's true; one must leeren the kelch, drink the bitterheit. In english: what torments me at present is that yesterday as documented i made a move, and hoped for brilliantness, but received none. And today was indeed passable, or rather passible. But still, I feel like a stupid **c**** ***t; what am i, at 25, 17ish? Where to go? The enthymeme: If I don't achieve something soon, it will be too late; the term is within completion. Writing this shakes me, almost drawing tears. To go back home, still alone? Another ungrown, empty summer? Motherfucker. de profundis clamavi. well, that's certainly an exaggeration. One must let go; and let G-d? Really, it were foolish to let the profound woe be extinguished with,,,; what to do? Ultimately what can one? Sleep and hope, hope and sleep and try to be at peace with self. There are worse things than being alone.
BUUUUUUUUUT. To complain was not the aim of this evening writing; it was analysis. But it perhapses that one must klagen. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_qJJvU0YASA.
deeggbasketing. The problem is quite simply that my mood is dependent on another being. Now this is perhaps not an uncommon thing; this is the thing of love perhaps, at least a species thereof. But the temporal dimension aforealluded to, and the profound sense that the occasion will never present itself, for it hasn't; other lovers can call on past loves ( obviously first time lovers are here discounted), they know what it's like.
That's it; to requote a quote i don't even like: i want this pain to be purposeful, but have no experience of this pain having ever been purposeful. Ah CUNT, i feel no better.

2010-02-16T05:35:00.000-08:00

the first essay i handed in in first year i got 65. This is the lowest i've ever got, but the fact that it was the first essay fairly crushed me. I remember walking a long deserted street listening to the piece by bach that begins with komm eilet und laufet; i think the exact thing i was listening to was the rather sanft Sanft soll mein Todeskummer. I was crushed. I feel my emotions in my stomach; harsh things like that are equivalent to being winded, tho something different. It is not unfair to say that i'm similarly crushed at present. Really, there isn't that much of an objective reason. She dutifully added me, tho without a message. Today we spoke after class, and it was awkward. For reasons i'm not going to get into, she says she's going to stop using facebook for a while: it is conceivable that my request introduced the awkwardness of her having to break that edict to save, so to speak, face. Actually that doesn't work. I asked whether she was going where i was going; she hesitated, and nayed. Two interpretations: she was ambivalent about going, could have gone either way, but didn't; she wasn't ex ante going to go, but considered it owing to my question, but didn't. The latter is obviously the more pleasing to me, but who knows?
There are several things here. One is that, for me, asking simple things is akin to asking big things; if she knows this, then my hand is truly revealed. Of course, on the assumption that she does like me, which is empirically well supported tho nevertheless underdetermined, this won't go amiss. But if she doesn't; well, if she doesn't, then so what? One needs to learn to get rejected eventually; thru avoidance i have lasted a long time. If she doesn't know this, then all is ok. But i don't know the answer. The second thing already alluded to is the fear of rejection and or the deep embarrassment that i feel with regard to everything other related. These aren't completely separate; ultimately i'm embarrassed because I feel that the gauche things i do will be negatively judged, which is surely linked with actual and potential rejections.
Yet another thing i'm learning is that life operates according to a fuzzy logic. Better, life is an indeterministic system. Better, and completely different: life is unpredictable, and it is but seldom that things, at least pertaining to others, pan out as one would have them pan out. For I was buoyed by the joy, last night, that I would receive a charming message from the maedchen; i could visualize it happily; but no. Ultimately time will tell whether this exploit was an utter disaster, or whether again from my position of incomplete knowledge of the workings of her neurons, I am again misinterpreting. But it seems objectively true that the hopes I had pinned on facebook will not pan out, for she won't be on it to interact with.

2010-02-15T13:14:00.000-08:00

well, i've done something. The plan that had been slowly being mulled in my mind has been activated, and, some 2 hrs a go, a facebook friend request was sent from me to her. So what, Watt, i hear you asking. The befriending of folk is as common as a butterscotch taste in the dentures of the old. Ah, but for me! for me! The constant existent problem had been that I lack existent fb friends; thus the befriending of a new speaks more than it would otherwise. I put myself out there; slightly tho, i'll admit. It'll be interesting to see how it pans out; whether, presuming she accepts my request, she meets it with joy; whether it introduces an awkwardness as twere she understood the subtext. Tomorrow we've class tomorrow, and if it's like normal class, the occasion won't present itself that we sit together: if at this point she hasn't replied, then indeed there will be problems. I'm fully aware that what i write may indeed sound pathetic; but it isn't; the only gripe that one can legitimately level is that i'm using too many ; semicolons. For panton metron watthropos estiv, tes philemene gunes, os philei; tes me, os ouk. And this is indeed phainetai moi important; thus tis.

2010-02-09T14:59:00.000-08:00

oh time, oh mores. Well, results from the last few days. Time spent with - ? b - not a good sign that i've forgotten here blog name. The thing is, we're both too shy to do anything. Could perhaps broach the subject. MC, but, but. It's true what they say, that you shouldn't get what you wish for, because it may make you sad. Well, I don't think they do say that, but anyway. And it was a rather piccola cosa. We dined. I was shyer than normal, lacking things to say, tho we did again do the getting to know you stuff. It's weird, she just sort of asks, what music do you like? do you play sport? etc, just drops such getting to know you fodder in easily. So that was positive, but the negative was my shyness, a lack of mutual intelligibility, and then, the hauptgeirksamkeit, when we separated us from, she said, i'll see you in lectures, an indication that she wouldn't in fact see me before, and our next lecture isn't for a week. Perhaps I overanalyse; but it could imply that she doesn't see us sitting together at dinner again, that any charm i may have possessed has fallen away. Perhaps i overanalyse. nescio, sed fieri sentio, et excrucior.

2010-02-02T14:31:00.000-08:00

Well. A tokenlet of esteem at 6, life playing according to the rules of giving when one doesn't ask. I was standing; there she was; was I going to x? No I wasn't; a crinkle of disappointment on her face. Now crinkles of disappointment on people's face are more common, indeed, among the rich, in whom it can be insincere. I am inclined to think however that this crinkle wasn't insincere. At this point i really think the evidence is, if not overwhelming, at least strong enough for me to be confident about. Doch, doch! The plan that lies in the outer reaches of my mind: to facebook her. If only I used facebook, it were done, procul dubio. The thing is I have an objectively pathetic number of friends, which however I don't especially care to increase, even if that were possible, which it weren't, as I don't know many people. I think it were welcome. But; to stress the submerged, tho ridiculously obvious train of thought...Well, what is it? That she knows I have few friends, that I like her? The former she wouldn't care about, the latter she would - ex hypothesi - like. I am actually seriously considering this course of action at present. The problem is that we don't have occasion to encounter each other one-one, to the extent that we did last year.

2010-02-01T07:14:00.000-08:00

Ah, the spice of pain flavours the otherwise dull thoughts, making them blogworthy. One speaks with those whom one likes. One speaks with those whom one likes. It's not hard: 7 monosyllables. But alas. Just had class with mc. She almost sat beside me; had have, had a not done so. We said hello, touched base. Her f--king friends and my f--king friends are an embuggerance. I don't have the oomph to interrupt, or rather to interpose myself in n>1 place relations, specifically of the conversational variety. Well, let us not lament. I am fully aware of the problem: and this is the first step towards a solution. But tomorrow having passed, the week will be over, herwise. But again, that's an overly negative way to view things. I must interpose myself. I have a plan. If I can manage to sit beside her, all the best; else, try and catch her after class and ask the simple question: are you going homewards? Either answer is a result. Oh life, why can't one speak one's mind?

2010-01-25T14:45:00.000-08:00

Nothing really to say but yet I am saying. No mc action today, when she should have been in class, lamentably. Overall was as calm as I have been in a long while today; not that i'm usually terribly uncalm, but there is a perpetual if not knot then kink in my belly. Plan: hope that she comes to class tomorrow, hope that something happens. That, a) there is an occasion, and that b) I take it. Please world, oedipus me, to put it negatively indeed. I guess the fact that i'm going home this weekend takes the sting out of it; i won't have to endure the lonely weekend that would have resulted hopeless had nothing happened and hopeful but still lonely had it had. Gosh, this is dull.

ueber logik, frauenzimmer, und dante

2010-01-20T13:37:00.000-08:00

Well, im compelled twice before the cock has crown to blog, and let's hope the old noodlebox doesn't betray me, making that thrice, during the long sleep hours that i've been struggling to fill. It is a consequence, I imagine, of my back to term jitters and l'amor che ne la mente more ed mi ragiona, w/ infernal suspirations, that i've been reading poetry. Indeed, I just spent a good while looking for Dante's poem, l'amor che nella mia mente move, which evidently doesn't exist, and isn't even sensibly italian, but which I had taken to mean the love that moves in my mind. However, what does exist is Ciò che m’incontra ne la mente more, what meets me dies in my mind, and l'amor che ne la mente mi ragiona, love that reasons in my mind, from which I, clever sausage that I am, have coined the line above. For it does die, and yet talks, suspirationally ofc, provoking from me tourettesesque self-asriptions of motherfuckerhood and sundry other unpleasantnesses. It's been a poor, resultless few hours, that is to say. However, it indeed das Fleisch weint, der Geist jubelt, and i've been throwing myself profoundly into my logische untersuchungen, which is causing me no end of delight. Today I finally got, well, very almost, the completeness proof, and am thus closer to loewenheim-skolem comprehension. Thence to Hilbert, and you've got yourself an essay baby. So all is not bad, tho the heart does hurt.

2010-01-20T07:05:00.000-08:00

ah, darn it to gosh. As twere an unravelling sock, the fabric of my love is coming unknit, and I am compelled to day blog. Contrary to my aforeplanned plan, I misacted apropos mc just there. On existing class, we were close; but I talked to someone else. This is not how such things are done: again my ineptitude will be mistaken for rudeness. One talks before all to those whom one likes. One does not walk by them in silence. When things continue in this art and wise, things will indeed come to naught. This was what was prophesied: as we are not in class only the two of us, the occasions of talking will be drastically curtailed. Given that I am bad at initiating conversations, there will be fewer occasions for the same. With each passing day, she slips but further. I must do something.

2010-01-19T12:59:00.000-08:00

Ah, well i began writing something yesterday but really as is known woe is a better motivation than moderate contentitude to writing and it ended up unfinished. So the shoulder of my beloved, at this concrete 9 moment in time, when my anti-virus' daily scan means I type, and words hesitate to appear, like the tokens of affection i would have shewn, but that my arsey shyness prevents. For what does love do if not wringt mich, biegt mich, schlingt mich und schwingt mich

wirft mich unnnndddd

faengt mich zurueck?

Rilkean emboldishments betoken ill, im sure you'll agree. The Uebersetzung of all this, in the register of pathetic, geangsted 25y/o males, is the following. Yesterday, the first day of being back, yielded several tokens of the type blandishment ( google tells me that's the wrong word, or at least not the write word). A warm howdo, a singling out after class to verbal intercourse; somewhat marred by an awkward chance encounter later in a bookshop. Today but there was a frostiness that is no longer on the roads; same room but infinitely separate, eyes as twere of two blinds, invisible to each other. Really, the verbalization of the angst reveals that it is, to quote myself, a piddling merdated nothing. And indeed a plan for tomorrow offers itself: even when it introduces an awkwardness, which, being me, it will, i'm to accost her before\after class, that my affection be shown, tho my it is better to do nothing and appear like a shy fool than to open one's bag of actions and remove all doubt dictum be demolished. Yes. Also, tho I need to shower, and can't expatiate on this at the length i'd, some interesting thoughts are arisen, like the x; do i want her?

The preceding is to be taken as a propositional function ( can a prop function contain conjunctions; can one say eg " a is tall and x is short"?

2010-01-07T12:55:00.000-08:00

Well, s'bin a bit since my last blog, on account of being in nowheresville, wherein nothing doesn't even happen, for that were, heideggerianly speaking, something. But not unenjoyable for that, it must be said. We all need rest sometimes. No, ofc, mc action. Resigning myself thereto, there's nothing to be done about it here. Overall it's been a good christmas, i should say. Don't really have anything of interest to say here. OK, i guess one train of thought, that would and perhaps should have been left on the cutting room floor, the would if i had anything else to say or presently do, the should because it doesn't present me in a good light in several ways, is that- and I do so hate to be such a bore - i'm wondering whether not to shift my Besetzung of libido from mc to she whom the hebrews call bet. For it's probable that i am, as one says, "in there" ( on condition, of course, that she never reads this) i.e. it's easier. The only problem is her quietness when combinedwith my quietness doesn't, like two negatives, make a loudness, but a pianissssssssssiiiiiiimmmmmooooo, that we have the acridity of nothing to say to each other in, as the phrase goes, meatspace. But which is my soulmate? with whom would I spent eternity in metaspace ( but which i of course mean heaven, or the secular equivalent thereof). Of course, the thing is fairly moot - at me's pace, both I and they will be acrid fossils before I make so bold as to wipe a bit of schmutz off one of the fine frauenpetticoaten. I'm sure there are several other servicable anagrams, but fuck it.

Wo sie nicht ist\kann ich nicht sein

2009-12-19T15:41:00.000-08:00

Small prebed blog, on account of the worm in my heart caused by my separation from my beliked. what to do? take matters into own hand? that were very risky indeed, given i don't fb, she does (probably), etc. on the other hand, i don't think it would be unwelcome. I got to bed sorehearted, woulding that I were a beckett hero, with a heart as dessicated as mr burns, so speech, no words, and a body already dead.

2009-12-17T13:44:00.000-08:00

J'ai lu tous les livres - that is, all my work is done - mais la chair est triste - that is no mc action last two days and thus none for a month. However, it isn't fit to groan or grumble. I have made progress this year, what with the internet broad whom I met three times, and mc with whom there is a very good chance that there is something, tho the fear is that this will dissipate in the break of the holidays. Moreover, i've gotten into a fuck of a lot more conversations with people. I feel that there is a chance that this year could be my year; it took me a long time to settle in primary and secondary school. I just wish that there were a way that we could keep in contact over the holidays. She is indeed on facebook, but i fear that it would be too forward to add her, given that it would be evident that i don't use it. Ah, the human heart. Looking back at the start of this blog I am made aware that life is indeed possible for me; that I can attract people, can get on like a normal one. In a certain sense my human heart is agrieved at the timing of this holiday, tho I am mentally and physically tired. But anyway. I give thanks to the Weltgeist.

2009-12-15T15:17:00.001-08:00

Nur ein blogchen. Yet more antics today with mc. It is looking, in fact, increasingly likely that she does in fact like me. Certainly more so than say a month ago. Again we had dinner together. And you know, we do real get to know you stuff, like what I would imagine normal people would say on dates. There are moreover several little signs: had I walked home earlier, she had done the same, she followed me. Cept as I needed a pish likes. Ich weiss aber nicht genau. Was ist zu tun?

2009-12-14T15:09:00.000-08:00

Kallifragilistic day. At teatime mc came and sat by me, the second time she has done so in as many days. This time however we conversed the whole time, then walked home together. So i'm happy this evening therebecause. I fear that'll probably be my week's supply of her exhausted, although she may be around tomorrow. Is there any concievable way I could keep in contact with her over the holidays? That were fine.

2009-12-13T15:08:00.001-08:00

Wellity wellity wellity. Today was spent frustrate wittgensteining. I just can't get the picture theory. In many ways its so obvious, but I just have a mental block. Problems moreover with wisdom tooth, think it broke, but no pain. Scared as always thereby, need go dentist. Give me, o someone, the strength to change my ways. Apart from that not much to report. I am mainly writing in an attempt to stop the fond fantasies which i've talked much about re mc. i go into the last week of term more or less despondent; really, what can happen? I play scenarios thru the night; that we walk somewhere and that she professes her love etc. It's beguiling, being human, that we can be charmed by what isn't. No I must laschiare ogne speranza; really, its ridiculous the extent to which things happen when you don't expect them, and don't when you do. I need to empty my head really.

2009-12-11T15:58:00.000-08:00

wellity wellity wellity. When I said above that making a move was a nice problem i was wrong. just spend an evening with b, which was fine but i don't know how to further things, and after a point it'll get ridiculous if nothing continues to happen. For it will behove me, but i don't want to be so behoven. If only it were the done thing to talk about what one thinks. but no.

2009-12-09T14:37:00.000-08:00

Days, days. Today featured: a lovely rhubarb crumble. And with MC? Vague awkwardness. Only in the context of a social occasion does a gesture have meaning, and the context of dindins and my having nothing to say were. Well, perhaps the context principle doesn't have that wide an application. Bleh. It occurred to me that I ironed out a kink in my thinking: to the extent that it's very unlikely anything'll happen immediately or ever w/ MC, it is pragmatic not to eggbasketify her. But then does love, unlike truth, admit of pragmatics? Is the heart but a calculating machine? Why am I so sonorous these days? Was sind und was sollen die Moeglichkeiten? Ah, for a nooscope. Nevertheless, my intention in blogging is to hoard my treasures, and analyse this hoarding. For my treasure today was slight, so slight. On entering dining hall she seemed to pace across the room to enter simultaneous with me. Yesterday, she sat near me, a slight breach of etiquette I think. Now to the analysis: such things, on which I set such stock, are really piddling merdated nothings.
What's so shitting annoying but is that my ineptness can be taken for rudeness.

2009-12-08T13:43:00.000-08:00

OK, i'm fucking royally with the time sequence, and posting twice in succession which you, curious reader, will no doubt ponder over. However, beblogged it must be, what happened last thurs. There was a book sale on. MC (oh, it reappears!) and I went. I guess one could almost call it a date, to the extent that it was outside of an immediate classroom situation. And oh, was it pleasant. Again, the sense of having made a connection sparkled in my brain, with the result that I veritably twilighted.
Moreover, i was exasperated from the previous evening's now realized as misinterpreted activities, and it buoyed me to the extent that its happening seemed providential, and i mean that grave term gravely.
Anyhoo, its a curious feature of the human animal, that it can, lying in a darkened room with the scurl of traffic without, be transported in transports, in mental imagery of other human animals, setting the heart aflutter while refraining from over-using the refrain O Leben, O Moeglichkeiten!, and to the martian, or indeed the mere moon person, there is nothing doing. But could i martial all my forces, and engage in the war of love, and win a prelude to a marital exuberance? And indeed, what does Wittgenstein impress upon us if not that we can represent what is not along with what is not, that is, possibilities. Wir machen uns bilder der tatsachen. But is it a tatsache, for its certainly not a sachverhalte, complex being the potential love, and if it be, will it ever be revealed in an adeaquatio, in a glorious correspondance between the two barely aforementioned animals?, between hoped for thought and conglomeration of brain chemistries?

2009-12-08T13:33:00.000-08:00

Ah, life. Bad? day. MC, to use an abbreviation i probably won't again was not there. She was there tho later in evening, in a quadrangular social situation, sitting opposite me, which i hate. And thus, I was unable to lavish the appropriate attentions on her. There was a little play, but it wasn't sufficient. And it dawned upon me that there will prolly never be an appropriate situation in which to make the transition from friend to more. Life. Also, got my worst mark ever in an essay. This i'm not too woebegirt about on account of the fact that the teacher is evidently a shit hard marker. Finally, another internet chick my senior who it would appear lives in the past after two messages suggest we meet up, which was weird. Don't know what to do thereover. Then of course there's net's chick a), hereafter and for one time only B on account of her broadality, who is quiet and whom i lack things to talk to in meatspace. Perhaps perhaps go to cinema with her again soon, tho i am kind of broke. And maybe make the appropriate move. Ah, tho, fate (allusion)

2009-12-07T14:26:00.000-08:00

One of the problems of having been an alcoholic is that it isn't great for one's health. Specifically, my teeth are pretty bad, full of holes and i'm scared of the dentist. This is something i need to work on for despite my fairly rigorous current oral hygiene regime one pays for the actions of one's former self, and back in the day i wouldn't brush my teeth before going to bed because i would drink more in bed and didn't want the lovely boozy taste to be marred by toothpaste. Moreover, one of the last if not the last time that I went to the dentist I had like a panic attack, so that has prevented me from going back. Perhaps the very fact of talking about this and objectifying it will make me take a course of action. But it will cost, and moreover i'm very embarassed, and the low cost solution would require me to perhaps be treated by people whom i know. I simply couldn't afford normal price dentistry. Perhaps if I come into money. But it causes me daily anxiety and fear for the future. Thankfully at present my grill isn't too bad but this will only get worse, despite the best laid plans. Really it's a question of when not if, and i should make that when as soon as possible. One of the important things to realize is that the situation is mine. It's not good saying oh that's nothing to worry about; also to chastise myself. It's a fact that I am what I am, and was what I was, and that I can't just run away from it. Yes.
In other news, my plans for socializing are going well. The possibility is open for me to see the internet girl again, and tho indeed i will need to make a move sometime, well, that's one of those nice problems. There's also fate (see below for the illusory allusion). And thereover I think often smilingly, but if there is indeed something, which is not definite, how to do something about it is another question. Tomorrow may or may not see something happen. Would I be ready, willing or able to ask her out in some sort of scenario? Well, yes, those words could certainly apply. aHmmm.

2009-12-05T14:21:00.001-08:00

Ah, misinterpretation. Having just spent a lovely evening with the chick maligned below i realize that any faults in the date, if date it was, were probably owing to me, nervous and talking my arse off, as opposed to her. I am bathed in the glow of successful socialization and happy with life. Ish. For - unless i'm misinterpreting again - there are Zeichen that it (subject: das maedchen, tho not das maedchen mentioned several posts back, whose my thought occupation warrants a separate blog of its own) is indeed, as the kids say, "Into me", and that the task of "making the first move" will be "derogated" onto me. And this is something i've never done, the fear of exposing self. But am remarkably fearless at the moment. Is Rhodiola a wonder drug? E.g. of fearlessness: prior to meeting her there was not the faintest trace of nerves.

2009-12-02T15:47:00.000-08:00

Well, it was. It was indeed a shy-ster. My performance was ok, tho not great, tho I think it could have been good had I something to work with. I'm remarkably unperturbed about it, tho I just wolfed half a big pizza and chased it with a bowl of cereal. But too excited to sleep, even when it's a negative excitement. I imagine nothing further will come of it: the hope that's kept me afloat the last couple of weeks has run aground. Einsamkeit bleibet meine Freude. I'm not quite feeling this acerbic disappointment yet tho. Sie hat aber fast nichts gesagt, elle n'a dit presque rien. There are lessons: the possibility of a lived life remains, this has perhaps shown me this. But i rerecall my dinner time inadequacies, which pain I had ignored buoyed by the aforementioned hope. To have never connected, with anyone, ever, since time immemorial. Einsamkeit bleibet meine Freude. I don't imagine she'll want to see me again; if I were her, i'd be feeling bad, embarassed. In most ways she's like me, except I did some pregame prep, I psyched myself up etc. Indeed, I know, well kind of, that the way I percieved her is exactly the way others perceive me.

2009-12-01T14:53:00.000-08:00

Well, guess who's got what may indeed be a date tomorrow: This lesbian ( I'm not appropriately sexed to be a lesbian, it's a sarah silverman quote). Needless to say there is not a little angst thereabouts. I need to think of things to say, although luckily it's in the context of a cinema, so there won't be that much talking involved. It's sort of a softlanding. That relaxes. But bloody hell, progress has indeed been made and lamentably not blogged. One's blogging activities it would seem is inversely proportional to one's happiness, but then that was known. I've been emailing this girl for a few weeks now, fairly intensely. She is funny, bright, attractive. I need to drill into myself, the truth, if it be true, or at least the pragmatic truth, which it procul dubio be, that one is what one makes oneself. Specifically, I need to remember the importance of a good, banterful first meeting. If I can concentrate on being personable and specificially funny, the rest may write itself. But tomorrow should be fairly vile. NO. Tomorrow will be fine. There will be a few nerves, as is inevitable, but i'll study, wash me clothes etc. etc. It will become 8, I will turn outwards, and all will be glorious. Anyway, join me tomorrow for the inevitable postmortum and hopefully some reflections on the nature of life and possibility, which latter the world is showing me, as I asked her to.

2009-11-21T15:02:00.001-08:00

Some things to ponder on. I tend to be someone to whom people go with problems, that is, resolvable problems not general moany problems. Because I think logically. Now I myself have a problem, which i can't figure out. The thing is this: i would like, and i think internet broad what I talk at would like too, that internet broad and I meet. But I don't know how - quite literally - to go about asking. Perhaps it's rejection fears, that of putting myself out there. I'm tired, I stop.

2009-11-19T14:49:00.000-08:00

Ah, days, days. Well. Hmmm. Nothing to report in fact in fact. Netful dalliance potentially. It's a very nice broad, funny etc. My day-to-day life is replete with awful social interactions, mainly at dinner times, which have almost entirely ceased to bother me. Not that i've given up hope or nuffin, just that i've gone past the stage of being disappointedly surprised. tis de rigueur. Also replete with shyly flirtations with flirtations working, like old gravity, over a large distance, on account of my praeternatural goodlookingness. So I guess the plan - such as it is - in this patriarchical society, is that it falls to me to try and initiate something w Ihre Durchlaucht (god, that's quite a clever pun), puzzle sweat and puke in anxiety thereover, succeed offchancedly, and live foreoverafterinagloriousundifferentiatedglow.

the eternal possibility-of-shenanigans draws us on

2009-11-16T14:09:00.000-08:00

frei nach goethe.

A tough week last but non at least introspective, now i'm back to the uni and back to the bemoaning tho i'm in good mood now. Little concrete possibilities are offering themselves at the moment. Interesting observation: on the dating site i message people who are unlikely to message me back; i never realized i was doing this until i reflected on it but it's clear i'm dooming myself to failure thereby. There remains the meatspace maedchen. Who knows, something might happen. I don't really have any desire of friends, just a girlfriend. And not just shenaniganicly speaking, not primarily in fact. Someone to feel close to i guess, to care for and be cared for by. Aw shucks, the necessity of bathos. Potentially one on said site, tho i fear it's a shy-ster. Hinauf. Enough.

2009-11-07T12:43:00.001-08:00

Welches Land? Cornwall. It - as inevitable - saturdays. Rain taps on the window. Same old story. But i have something to talk about. It is the already noted problem that i'm obsessed with how people perceive me, and/therefore i'm unhappy with the train of my life. I need to accept my einsamkeit, that one can only put oneself out there, that things need to happen to one. True? Self-deception? I don't know. If only I was what I was like a chair is a chair (forgive the Sartreism). Sartre makes this big thing of the fundamental project. But does not my fundamental project determine me as much as any Freudian drive? But the thing is I should relish my aloneness, find things to do other than pine thereover. And I do. But I could do more, so my thoughts didn't turn so often fantastic. This blog is in fact a good outlet, but it takes up only 20 minutes. I should write. Writing will soothe all pains. But above all come to accept myself somehow. I think i'm still holding out for literally the deus ex machina. I anxiously check my email constantly, never to have recieved everything. I build up the checkpoints of the week, then lament their inevitable passing. I want to be happened to. But this is bad thinking. I need opportunities. This is purely venting, with no interest in coherence or humour.

2009-11-06T11:34:00.000-08:00

Loooow- that I wouldn't say bou to a gooose is my problem. And i like to lie on my side in the rain. Back home, the time now punctuated - six weeks and nothing. Seeds, indeed spermata of life, but as yet neither flower nor fruit. It must be possible to take one's existence for one's own. To live in the facts, and accept them while also trying to change them. There are two things: one should propel oneself forward, but one must also heed the now. That I am aphorismenos eis dusangelion emautou, that outis me russetai from the circle of self, and that tho tuche it may happen that there be a time when all slathers out, joyful into a moment; it may also not, and lonely I'll grow lonelier, older and decrepiter; this is a fact. It is however my fact. No. Sartre. No. The self is an illusion.
But we are trapped. Our facticities overwhelm. Who will release me from the bullshit of the thoughts these?

2009-11-05T07:42:00.000-08:00

Mild disappointment and nothing better to do compels me to tinkle somewhat the plastic. Begin patheticness: the frauly female that I covet and I's interactions today weren't as top notch as could have been. I guess the lesson is that I shouldn't overanalyse things. That would certainly be conventional wisdom. The reason being there is too many variables, too many possible interpretations for each and every human deed. This seems hard to deny. But, then, the devil's in the details. Mentalists and such like see so much more than us, and it must be assumed that it's there to be seen. That small things betoken past themselves. This is also conventional wisdom. I've a weeks holiday, and my fond fantasies had me imagining that there would have been some concretum that I could have taken home with me, a certain sign and addition to the treasures of my spirit. But no. I go home empty handed. And until there is some such sign, the scary, scary possibility rests that it's all in my head, that these transports have no foundation, and that the progress I percieved myself to have made have been misinterpretations, that I am still enclosed entirely within myself. How can one know - to put it poetically - if one is really alive in that sense without evidence? How know the external world exists when all we have are our ideas? And does that not open up great possibilities of puns? Of the real danger of solipsism right here?
Ultimately - tho in fact this is very likely not the case, or at least oftentimes not the case - there must come a time when one knows. I have known before, with the aforementioned 1st year girl. But she dished out Evidenz like it was butterscotch. This one but don't. It is halt possible that... well, i'm repeating myself here, really just typing to time waste.
Come on, you big bloody life, life me!

2009-11-03T14:15:00.000-08:00

Well, the plan for socialization continues apace. The cinema was natch uneventful, and today, there was more evidence that the Maedchen and I could be on the same page, shenanigans wise. I just don't know! Dem bitchez are straight inscrutable, at least to me. So I'm going to lapse into pathetic analysis mode. It is not often I feel a rapport with people, that I connect with them, especially new people. And when I do, I tend not to to such an extent as I am doing. I like talking to her. But ------------ how do I know this isn't just normal sociality, the product of a social girl misinterpreted by an unsocial man. Time, I guess, will tell. It's interesting, I seem to be at a similar crossroads to the one I was at before coming back to university. There is a future progression, or rather there will be. Will what I perceive to be there prove in fact not to be and to never have been, and will these days buoyed by a concrete as opposed to an abstract hope be looked upon ruefully?
There is an objective psychological fact of the matter at the moment, in her brain, which is in fact most likely located at present 2 floors above me. Do her thoughts turn mewards, as mine herwards? Or is it horrendous to say just a figment of my unschooled imagination: is there concretely nothing in her neurons pertaining to me? This, I guess, is living. I was going to say it would be more lively had I a better set from which to make my inductions, but that's probably not the case. This is living. Weird to be human, to be moved so much by potential fictions: to be so thoroughly rent with possibility.
But back to more pragmatic concerns. The main thing now is to get her number, arrange some sort of meet, some sort of out of school thing. It is possible and necessary to do this without giving the game away, without exposing myself to rejection. Ultimately perhaps the time will come for such exposure. Am I ready for it?
I'm not generally a negative person, but I'd like to end on a suckingly negative subjunctive exclamatory phrase: oh that her neurons might not be firing!

Oh that I were fey! Should it not be am I fey? Are all these perorations fey?

http://www.learnersdictionary.net/dictionary/fey

2009-11-01T12:03:00.000-08:00

Well, i'm a hero. That is, i'm going to the cinema with people outside my immediate family, in about 40 minutes. i'm not going to let myself get depressed about how this warrants a blog, because it's really a good thing i'm doing, tho i'd rather stay pascalesque in my room. When there is one cause of nervousness, i have noted, the others all barge in, until one can't look sideways w/out being overwhelmed with angst. Almost such is me now. The time trundles by.

2009-10-31T15:13:00.000-07:00

I am the autodidact. Well, I am a autodict, but not necessarily the autodidact. Hopefully, even equally lonely, i'm the less deceived. But am I the less deceived? And if he has mauvais foi, I at least have a mauvaise foie. It parties w/out, a force of nature. And I shatter PNC by neither wanting nor not wanting to be there. The autodidact, in a tent of prisoners of war crowded together is at his happiest. For then, at their lowest, they are his equal. And by the transitivity of identity, I am a group of prisoners of war. But it's absurd to suggest i'm a group of prisoners of war. Therefore i'm not an autodidact. BUT, does it follow from my being the autodidact that I shatter PNC? If so, my not being the autodidact could really shore up logic. I'll take it; the set of premises 1) i'm the autodidact 2) I don't want to be in or not in are inconsistent, and not because 2) is contradictory in classical logic.
This is a timewasting way of saying i'm alone.

2009-10-30T14:50:00.000-07:00

Abermals bin ich. Sentence over. Perhaps to be added: on a friday night. But my german doesn't go that far. In fact, I quite am, this moment, having just watched, thru the shivers and welling eyes of art, the candy coloured clown they call the sandman scene from blue velvet on the youtube. Fine, fine stuff. What is frank thinking when he gets upset?
Another week gone, and back in my room. Next week i'll be back in my room and home. Will any progression have been made in these 6 weeks? Some progression has been made, and, given the nature of time, the answer must be thus affirmative. But one fears. I grow old, and as it gets older, it gets weirder that one's mode of being with others is so deficient. And the veritable bayeuxicness of the suspirations, asseverations and perorations I weave on the screen of my mind and the screen of my computer and the foolish already noted fantasies I feed myself on - do i wish to be free from them? i.e., tho my voice be plangent the now, my stomach be calm. Ultimately this question is pointless. I need to be given the option. Another thing to do: smile more frequently, or at least shake off somewhat the rigor. The rallying cry of the phenomenologist re science doesn't hold here. My face is to be as flaccid as some goo, leaking constant into queasy smile. Constantly have the questions in mind that people tend to ask to other people in social situations which I tend to be in. I begin to bore myself.

2009-10-29T15:22:00.000-07:00

Well, liebes tagebuch, a damn fine if without palpable Erfolg day of socializing somewhat clouded - for there needs must be a besmirchment, this being me, Beckett's logicalest character - by scholarly worries at even tide. Hmm. There is a sense that even tho no-one knows who I be, I want to hold things back. But I won't, tho my fingers don't dig my brain. es gibt ein Maedchen. Now I think it's in fact very likely that i'm misinterpreting friendliness for something else, but I think there might be something. For in addition to being a neurotic freak I have some vaguely desirable qualities; it is not inconcievable that she appreciates said qualities. I am prone - wikipedia says so - to way overanalyse things. And so it may be. There are certain facts about her making it a priori unlikely. But - and here comes the Evidenz, tho were it Husserlian! - she, despite having only made my acquaintance recently, sits besides me in class in opposition to people whom she's known longer; and singles me out to talk out when waiting outside said class. That's it. I've said my pathetic piece. I'm glad i've recorded it for posterity and prosperity. Hope bleeds eternal.

2009-10-28T16:37:00.001-07:00

Just a little pre-sleep blogly attempt at experimental psychology. Benights these days I tend to engage in fond fantasizing til the wee hours. This is bad because a) it means I sleep not, b) the fantasized in my experience seldom becomes reality. So, to indulge in some very paranoiac thinking, if there is something I want to happen, I shouldn't think about it. I feel the urge to rilkean italicize, for the Rilkean italics are about Leben, Sein. die, die sind. und ich bin nicht. I don't deserve the italicisation. You can feel it; well, I can. He wrings out the word sein. It's painful for him, the pained poet, to poeticize being.

die sind

By all this of course I mean i'm butting up tho not sexily or even really against the spectre of living girls, whose living pains me to no end, the un-murderableinaconcept other people. They suck. And another week roles by. Now heed brain, i'ma stop typing. Stop dreaming!

2009-10-25T13:03:00.000-07:00

Xtu Jesu on a bike but i'm woe begirt. It's a dark sunday, i feel like i've been up for ages, i'm tired and have done nothing. My stomach is a ball full of knots. Mond und Licht ist voll Schmerzen unter-gangen, weil i---ich bi--in befangen. Little joy re dating site, much oy. To turn back into myself would appeal, to throw myself into work. I just don't feel built to not be alone. One needs to expose oneself, to peel back a layer of skin, to deprickify the hedgehog self. But it turns, like Homer's gums exposed to wind; an augenblick and ecstasy, un coup d'oeil and agony. There is no settledness, and the stomach won't thank you. And there is nothing ; just hours going to make up empty days, and meaning intentions never to be brought to meaning fulfillment. The monologue ; the words are thought and come a second later, in order predetermined. The thoughts ; a closed circuit on this and on that side of the pillow, sometimes raised, progressing about 6 feet up, into the dark cool toilet, the moon or just night thru the bathroom window, the thoughts cogging onwards.

2009-10-24T12:44:00.000-07:00

Another saturday night. Reading Faust anxiously, feeling like i'm wasting my life like him. Flieh! Auf! Hinaus ins weite Land! There was some moderately depressive book whose name i can't remember which i read and there was a line in it, all i want is for this pain to be purposeful. Now if you ignore the overly emotional connotations, that's how I feel. That is, I want the fact that i'm trying to put myself back into the world to bear fruit. It's funny - Faust can't do it himself. In order to live he needs to make a pact. I've been trying to do the same, I partially blush to admit. Specifically, i've been praying: the last refuge of the scoundrel as lisa in the simpsons says. This is a very odd attitude for me to take, as i'm not religious. It means i don't think I can do it. I would never dream of praying for uni success, something within my reach. I think I need to cut this thinking out. By assuming that it's only by something akin to a miracle - a benevolent god existing and choosing to help out in such a situation - that I can live a peopled life, what am i really saying to myself. I'm prejudging it, big style. Another thing that occurs to me is that I need luck. I think, if I'm lucky i'll manage to have an exchange w someone bla bla. Again, in the academic world, I realize that luck is sometimes important, but one tries to work around the effects of fate, by e.g. doing all one possibly can to prevent unluck. I need to realize that to me at least, socializing is akin to a fuck difficult, painful exam. Anyway. Goethe will at least partially keep me company tonight, as my 1st half of a romcom slithers.
It occurs to me that all my eggs shouldn't be placed in the college basket. They've already got gallons of friendly friends. The net may be the way to go. fuck, can't be bothered writing anymore

2009-10-23T12:05:00.000-07:00

fled the smog and autocity of the peopled city, languishes homely, onely and lonely, with the constantly prefixed percievedly.
Well. The problem is the lost years, 18-23, prime growing years when my then wispy turd's-beard was speckled with puke from my constant drunkenness. I am an 18 y/o, d.i., in a 25 year old's degenerating corpse. Struck up via dating site a conversation w an interesting lass. sie lebt aber.
Ultimately what can one do? I feel like an ex-con.
But anyway. What I wanted to consider, humble reader, is the following. why do people like e.g. lynch's eraserhead, Beckett's trilogy? There is something there that people feel? There is humanity, even there, among people so disjoint? For whom life is a box, w as much freedom as a coffin. This is it. I'm surrounded by the young and free. It causes me no end of joy to know that there are unyoung, unfree, unborn and yet half dead people, if only in literature. That I am not alone, that life is hiding, squalor; that language constantly fails, sticks in the throat; that to be orthogonal to others is not the province of me alone. Alone, lone, lonely; there is nothing worse than something unique really. What we want is to jar before something, to take a second before realizing that the purported unique thing isn't new, there is a precedent. The absolute scariest thing in the world would be to be completely unique.
This is utter bullshit, an insult to my normally civilised and sharp complaints.

2009-10-21T14:24:00.000-07:00

Fucking amazing scene in the wire(s4e9) I watched yesterday. There were these hood kids,in a special class behind their delinquancy, and they won a prize to go out to dinner with their teacher. They were all looking forward to it. Then they went, and they were completely out of their depth. They had never had dinner in a restaurant, and felt deeply uncomfortable with the politeness and helpfulness of the waiters. They walked out of the restaurant in near silence, and as they were being driven home, they began to act up. It reminds me of something my psychoanalysis lecturer said the other day: we can't take too much reality, and the child learns to live in the world by venturing forth into it, then retreating when things get too "real". For the kids, the idea of a fancy restaurant and waiters to serve you and fine food was all well and good; but the reality of it, that was a whole different thing.
Now here's an anecdote. When I started college, there existed something, such that x was a girl, x liked me and indeed i liked x. One day after class we went for a drink (non boozeaholic obv in my case). We had a conversation and shit, and in my opinion, it fell flat; I dun fucked up, to use (non racistly!) an ebonic auxiliary. She continued however to ask me to do things. But partly out of fear that something actually could happen, and partly, I think, because I felt that I had indeed fucked up that drink, that i felt embarassed to be in front of her for revealing my true, percievedly-inadequate self, I refused. Moreover, and here's the kicker, I became rather standoffish, almost unpleasant to her, from having been very interested and comparatively friendly towards her. So I acted, moderately, like a dick, because I felt I had embarassed myself. But it's lamentable; how ( or so, at least, I think; i'm sure the real in this case would be just as disheartening (perfect word, i think - the feeling of the heart sinking)) would i like to be in this situation now!

The relief of having things you have to do

2009-10-19T14:55:00.001-07:00

As above. Work has begun in earnest in university, and my thoughts are bending philosophywards, and not so much woe-is-mewards. I did, however -ahem- join a - ahem - dating site. Perhaps such a stigma shouldn't be attached thereto, but anyway. It seems to me like a good, positive, step. Tho i'm not exactly throwing myself into it. I need the intersection of the sets of non-drinkers, social retards and very clever people. It is alas small, if not non-existent. Natheless, hopefully perhaps perhaps some NT, as we call them in aspergese will well initiate something. Of course if they were to, more or less my worst nightmare would be realized, but then what is life if not the realization of one's worst nightmares. And on that portentous note I end.

2009-10-18T04:14:00.001-07:00

Time to kill @ home before going back to angstville. It's twee, but i really need to count my blessings, or at least some sort of secular version of that infinitive phrase. I have a good, healthy generally happy family. I do something I love, which absorbs me and which I have the chance to be really good at. I have pleasures: in addition to philosophy, there is literature (reading my namesake recently; on the back of the book it says beckett helped the disenfranchised of society. While I doubt the general truth of this, reading people like Beckett always makes me happy - i feel as disjointed as one of his heroes); there is comedy - how can one not be happy after watching arrested development; there is the fantastic mathematical beauty of well maths and Bach.
Yes, my life isn't perfect, and my stomach will continue to groan and my breath to get caught panicked in my throat; but it's not so bad.

2009-10-16T12:43:00.000-07:00

back home for the weekend, and my douleur, it se tient plus tranquille. Three weeks into the new term tho and my best laid plans are coming up arosily. perhaps recursive decomposition holds the key. so i shd concentrate on learning one skill: and the most obvious one is starting up conversation where the option exists. I do this kind of, but could do it more. I'm not filled w my useful dolorous zest; i'm gonna stop writing now.

2009-10-15T15:25:00.001-07:00

A nighttime blog. Not quite ready to sleep, thinking to parp my thoughts out that they don't bother me in bed. Well, another week more or less gone. Nothing to show; they could make a romcom of my life. Or at least, the first half of a romcom, tho it would probably test badly, most people knowing that students are awful arseholes, and those who don't probably were awful areshole students and waxed into awful arsehole adults. Y'know, moody shots of me walking thru the dark and noisy populated city, puzzling over some difficult text in an empty library, then coming, as some I would say by Coldplay wank crescendoed, to my dark and empty room.
(little storylet: abalienated from life i went alone to cinema having poorly slept during the day to see funny people ( punctuate as desired (but never double parenthesize)). Now this is a fairly gash film, w/ Sandler dying of cancer until he doesn't. But motherfuck me if I wasn't damn near welling up when the I would say by Coldplay wank started blaring and he was looking at photos or whatever it is dying people do in films. So yeah, the moral of this story is that emotions are stupid)
I'm talking about movies alot these days. Maybe i shd make this a therapy\movie review blog. I do look uncannily like Jon Lovitz's critic.

2009-10-15T08:07:00.000-07:00

A daytime blog. Quietly Jesu meine Freude, the motet that could make me christian, plays, w/ city noise accompanying. Profound tiredness of sociality, even family sociality. One of my checkpoints passed empty. Am I actually doing anything? i.e., intentions are good, but one needs some positive action. Perhaps one's self needs to be the first to go. Caught a sliver of Sandra Bullock's odd vehicle 28 days, in which she plays a hard living alkie who learns the true meaning of xmas or some such bullshh. Anyway, in it earnestly madtoothed steve buscemi played a councillor, and he said r.e. dipsos' post-stoppingdrinking social intercourse, get a planet. In a year, get a pet. If, in a couple of years, both are still alive, then have a relationship. Now when I first saw this movie a few years ago a few months dry, I assumed that the relationship was with the plant/pet. But today, I read in a textbook on botany that - and I quote - it is impossible for a human being to have a physical relationship with a plant*. Accordingly, owing to the illegality of beastiality when not in holland, and the film wasn't set in holland, or if it was, no indication of this was given, drawing on Aristotle's distinctions of different types of living soul, I am lead to conclude - quartus non daturwise - that he meant the relationship to be with fellow homo sapiens.
To conclude, i'm tired, and at least pseudo-lonely. And perhaps indeed like iron pyrite under analysis it'll be revealed to be false; but in the absense of such analysis, it feels real.And there seems nothing within my power to do about it. One can align oneself outwards; one can aim the cannon, but a shot needs to be fired eventually. And therein lies the problem.