I feel accomplished, exhausted and semi-cauterized on days when I’ve succesfully scratched off the sorta paper/pen markings I associate with a list of Things to Do.
I take a lotta notes and slap mods on a lotta concentric lists. There is a pathos to this that is common to socialism, modernism, social scientism, monism, empiricism, etc.- really the whole splendid buffet of petit-b class practices (and self-ish ideas, idylls, idols, id, etc.)
I miss somebody, and my missing- somebody amounts to an equal, dialectical, contrapuntal dosage of tones and ambiences that is a necessary antidote to the deliberative methods and methodical deliverance evoked/connoted/affected avec “work.” Yes, my very capacity for missing heralds a somebody-shaped renaissance of wonder and ecstasy that’s slated for (never too) soon.
(So ends [we]blog-qua-hope-chest pour ce soir.)