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Tel Quel

je sais bien mai quand même

I think I’ve initiated myself pretty comfortably into semester so far (although it has only been three days proper), possibly esteemed from the arrangement on/of my new desk (and notice board) that I admire with such unearthly fondness. My only misfortune are the spectral hall officers that drift by once in a while, such as today. My heart did stop. But they are nice, and I had to lie. Guilt aplenty.

It’s a pity really, I’m getting used to the emptiness of the room, especially the quiet. Not the silence, the quiet. A kind of harmonic equilibrium of the night, of crickets, the occasional hiccough of the stone slab instead of an obliterating vacuum; like enjoying one’s own company in a crowd through the act of voluntary (perhaps reflexive) detachment. I love my shelves especially, it’s practically a fucking fortress. Of course, nothing beats home, cat included. I never thought I could miss something so much that it made me believe, for a moment, that I do have some kind of figurative heart after all. Again, so much for one night, almost too much: “Sometimes I look at the stars and think about how big space is… Then I get a headache and go inside.” (via mattrupp) This is almost the exact feeling, ingenious he is.

I’m earnestly trying to read the first eighteen lines of The General Prologue like it is but I sound completely ridiculous, like an Italian lunatic with a lisp. As far as genuine effort goes, I’m a winner already (and therefore trying not to harbour ill-will towards the neighbouring seminar room.)

In a steadfast nonchalance of the terracotta soldier,
Such a general lack of warmth and complete aloofness
You are magic
— Anon.

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