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.

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.

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

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.

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.

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.

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.