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.