Lately I'm bothered by the nowness of life, meaning that the only real thing is what is right now, and that the relentlessly passing time renders all things immediately unreal. Snuffs them, basically. Now real... now memory. And memory is to what extent false?, and so on. The image of the idea is kind of like a wheel rolling on a line; the wheel is the self and the line is time, tangent to the wheel -- it touches the wheel at only one point. One, single, unidimensional point, which is the container for all that is real, so all that is real must exist in this volumeless container. And only for an instant! before being -- well, digitized, basically. Reality ends up having only one dimension, is just basically one point, one pair of coordinates the values of which are anyway meaningless -- decontextualized and irrelevant the very instant they even are anything. Crap!

���� But that's coming from a head that's inclined to do exactly this sort of stupid bleak idea thing. And as usual, I'm so absorbed in the idea that for example I've completely forgotten what say the "Four Quartets," which are about this very thing, and which I've read probably 15 times, so I should be an expert.

���� And you know what? Many things have been stagnant for several years -- so that it's been hard to realize that they're stagnant, and stagnant starts to seem normal -- or maybe BECAUSE it's been hard to realize it, and BECAUSE it seems normal. But it has been. So of course the fabric seems thin.

���� But even if there's a pointless appearance to things due to an impersistence of reality, over the last 2 days my skin has lost all its moisture. Por ejemplo tranquilizante.


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