"Monday
Me.
Tuesday
Me.
Wednesday
Me.
Thursday
Me.”
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Sunday
I’ve lost so much of what I had by holding onto them, but sometimes I can hold onto so much by losing it… in short, to let go, which someone said that it is something unknown to youth–an age of agony. And the age suffers… And to get through this suffering, to grow up, one…
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Thursday
there is no such thing as silence. It is by imposing silence that one hears an abundance of other sounds, that there is no silence, and that everything is an association of something else, that an impression is an impression of more things. If I impose silence upon one minute, within this time, a number…
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Saturday
A day where nothing falls, happens, an emptiness not empty or absent, becomes fulfilling, like how the light falls on the glass which reflects, falls, and reflects again, in which I am trapped in this multitude of reciprocation, but which I do not become the object of reciprocation, endless, infinite, empty… I am finite, and…
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Tuesday
Almost two weeks since I’m in Toronto. Back in Toronto I should say. There’s so much to be happy about, so much to be sad about, but when you’re away from home, all sadness melts into a kind of happiness, of an ecstasy of sadness, melancholy, nostalgia. This summer, I’ve spent my summer well. I’ve…
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Wednesday
Look closely but not too close. So you see nothing… look far, but not too far, so nothing sees you. K. said that when I say I don’t know, I really mean to say no, which made me realize that even what I say never means really what it says, that there’s a distinct personality…
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Thursday
Life. Gombrowicz. part of why I’ve decided to follow this plan that I have. Part of why it is totally unrelated to philosophy, on the surface at least. See, the shades of shades, the effects around it, the paths that permeate rather than diverge; I don’t care where they’re fromI only care how one uses…
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Friday
I’m eating oatmeal and it’s 7:30. Have to leave for work. ugh–a single word of expression: nostalgia for something that has died, thus happened.
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Monday
If I can be unhappy and still go through with this tedious homework, then there will be no other times in which I could not do this thing, for I would never be this unhappy and find it as difficult as this again. Can I conclude this thought before I even found out about it…
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Sunday
Only when it’s summer do I miss summer, only when K. is here do I miss K. Who’s me through their eyes, the presence of presences, which are only presences of more people… Each exist within another; one must penetrate them. The inner penetration of the self with the self, others with others, all together…
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Saturday
where r u. abbreviations remind me of Cummings and Debussy. Or short forms. Debussy and Cummings. Saturday off work, how good it feels when the sun is still blistering. I’m thinking about autumn–the warm shades pressed under sleep. I’m lying on the sofa, thinking about nothing in particular but only the grass, the sun, the…
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