notes

a day of contemplation. Quiet. No one to speak to but strangers and the dog. No relationships beyond my various concrete functions: strangers: customer. dog: caretaker. No one thinking of me, not of me. Not abstractly of me. Wondering if that means anything- or, moreover, wondering if it should.

Didn't quit smoking, but it doesn't much matter. Instead watched a movie that was a moving love letter to Paris. Ate breakfast alone. Walked the block. Tried to take unflattering self portraits. Succeeded.
Thought of wading through life- life manifesting as fog. And of vanishing, or at the very least, dispersing, within it.

(This isn't a study in sadness, but more just a study. Non linear thought processes. What strikes you when you look at the sky, etc etc. An exercise in parceling out "random", with a vague attempt to piecemeal it together into "something"- find and incorporate the piece about the barren trees with hands and fingers composed on the train. tie thoughts into knots.)