Caught in that sensual music all neglect
Monuments of unageing intellect.

I am beginning to miss home, but for all the wrong reasons. Ah, sweet monotony. The familiarity of a narrow landscape. The bliss of a dissipated life! Dawdling, vegetating, drifting. M is off to Tokyo! And here I languish. Ah! I fall upon the thorns of life! I bleed!

Why do I keep running into the same people?

At this point my idea of time elegantly and perfectly wasted would be: tea-time things taken while tossing around tea-time trivialities, languid dialogue while flÂning in the dead chill of night.

There is something very compelling I find lately in Chinese film. That squalor, clamour, picturesque sordidness that is so uniquely...Oriental? Also, I fear my Francophilia is waning. Godard's Eloge de l'amour, so very, very pretty, crystalline, lapidary black and white footage. But what, WHAT does it all MEAN? I used to enjoy deliberate opacity. Now: either I am distracted by sensual music, or I can no longer pretend that I enjoy unageing intellect.