"A fragile fracture waiting to give way"

i haven't felt so good and relieved and enthusiastic in a while. i really do love antwerp; discovering all these lovely cafes, the quiet and unpretentious tuned down city life, and more than anything, the space.

i like myself a lot more when i'm alone and working hard.

i miss you. there's an emptiness in my bed which i try to keep as a reminder of you. there's a restlessness in me which sincerely wishes you could be near me always. but the fact is that we don't need each other - and the time we spent together, though full to the brim, was too short to etch real significance in our memories -

(i also fear i might bore you eventually. i'm afraid that you will vanish without a word, like the rest.)

Literature

Since graduating, I've been trying to re-learn the pleasures of reading. In other words, rather than directly tackling books through critical analysis and matters of deconstruction, I want to read a book for itself, to take in, articulate dancing letters, to re-imagine, re-discover why I love literature. It's gonna be a long process, but I hope I can one day explain exactly why I like a particular book without looking for a theoretical back-up claim.

Here's a really good article about literature:

"In short, it’s about subjectivity finding its assignations within material space and transmitted (or occluded) history, experience being dragged and catapulted along their ineluctably death-driven arcs.

Literature, in short, is not made up of ‘characters’: it understands that existence, whether individual or collective, is formed and unformed within networks of language and ceremony, spread across topographies whose axes, or gravitational force-fields, are law, pleasure and mortality, subject to the exigencies of topography itself. As such, it offers, at its deepest, neither commentary nor entertainment; rather, it is the very source-code of our being, index of its contingencies."

Remember Freud, Tom McCarthy
http://surplusmatter.com/writings/the-source-code-of-our-being/

i'm so bad with goodbyes. i become immediately cold, detached, withdrawn, as if a part of me has already moved on. you can tell - i walked away the minute you went up the bus - i should have waited - done the whole smile and wave part as the bus pulled away. you can tell - i don't know how to react except to walk away as fast as i can -

a pregnant silence
i'm sure i lost you there and then