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.