i often beheld the world at a great distance, or i didn't behold it at all. at every moment, birds
passed by overhead that i did not see, clouds and bees, the rustling of breezes, the sun on my
flesh. i lived only in the grayish, insensate world of my own mind, where i tried to reason 
everything out and came to no conclusions. i wished to have the time to put together a world
view, but there was never enough time, and also, those who had it, seemed to have had it from a very young age, they didn't begin it at forty.


sheila heti,
motherhood.



i want to read five books at a time, but i know i won't finish one. i finished room to dream, and i'm glad i did, it's nothing when you look at his movies. i always loved the film damage, but have the feeling the novel will leave that in the dust, though it be erotic dust. and i want to revisit cloud-hidden, whereabouts unknown, but i may find i can't go back there, with castaneda and dune. but i won't assume. i'm intrigued by what books are in memory, changing like memories, and like memories we can never return to precisely what is remembered and may not even have existed as we remember, and may have grown better. i'll read motherhood, because that is next in my library queue, and soon due.
there never will be enough time and time is all we got. i took some whole hemp oil, and i'm going to try to relax. i'll have a swim, go to the library, walk the pointers, walk mister and monkey, at the same time. time is all we got.