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

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.

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.

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"?

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

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.

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.